Just Like Me
by Draco Dormiens
Summary: Draco/Pansy. A look into the lives of two Slytherins; focusses on Pansy.
1. Default Chapter

Just Like Me

Written for Michi, because she loves Pansy/Draco and there's not much of it out there. This is only the first chapter. It will be continued, whether my muse likes it or not.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine. This should be very, very obvious.

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December was always a cold month at Hogwarts. Inevitably, snow would fall, icicles would form on the window ledges, and the castle would be cold. That's what the scarves were for. They let students cling to every particle of warmth they could get their hands on, and show their house pride.

When it was six below in every classroom, not many people cared about what house their peers were in.

Pansy Parkinson curled up on the couch beside the fireplace in the Slytherin common room. It was much colder in the dungeons than in the Great Hall, like the castle was showing hatred towards her house. She was sure that the Gryffindor tower was deliciously warm, that none of the Hufflepuffs were huddled around their single fireplace trying to salvage the heat.

Pansy rubbed the wood of her wand absently, briefly considering creating a bonfire with the extra furniture. She quickly discarded the idea as being unduly dangerous. She didn't want her robes to get singed, after all.

"Don't they bloody heat this place?" Draco Malfoy's disgusted voice floated over to her from his place on the other side of the room. Pansy drew her robes tighter around her, resting her head on a pillow and closing her eyes.

The couch bobbed under her as the most well-known Slytherin sat down near her, muttering all sorts of nasty hexes under his breath. Pansy assumed that these hexes would be directed at whomever had forgotten to heat the dungeons, if Draco ever found them. Draco was not known as the most forgiving of people.

A foot jabbed her in the side. Pansy opened her eyes. Draco was looking at her curiously. "How can you sleep in this cold, Parkinson?"

"I'm not sleeping," Pansy retorted, "or else I wouldn't be talking right now."

Draco lifted his shoulders in an effortless, elegant shrug. "You could have woken up."

"Well, I didn't," Pansy said quietly, closing her eyes again. 

It was their last year in Hogwarts. Pansy's family had known the Malfoys for as long as she could remember, and probably much longer -- wealthy pure-blooded families tended to stick together. In the seventeen years that they had known each other, Pansy could not remember a single time when Draco had willingly called her by her first name. She had always been Parkinson to him.

It was normal for him, of course. Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, Parkinson. She assumed that it was a Malfoy thing, as Lucius Malfoy had the same habit.

The couch shifted again, as Draco got up. "I am going to complain to Professor Snape," he announced for the whole room to hear. "I should not have to put up with this." Emphasis on the _I_.

The door slammed loudly as he left. Pansy glanced up at the fireplace. The flames flickered, hypnotising her. She examined a flame, idly noticing the interplay of colours within it. It seemed almost hypocritical of the fire to have a darker base, when it cast so much light.

Pansy twisted her hands within the Slytherin scarf. They felt somewhat warmer when she did that, so she kept her hands that way, hoping that Draco would be able to convince their head of house that frostbite was not the best motivator for academic success.

Gregory Goyle sat down beside her, the couch sinking under his weight. Pansy sighed in irritation, wondering if the warmth was worth the company.

"Have you seen Draco, Parkinson?" Goyle asked. 

Pansy ignored him for a moment, lost in her own thoughts. He continued to stare dully at her.

"He went to ask Professor Snape for some heating," Pansy finally said, standing up. She had decided that she would rather freeze in her room than put up with the walking, talking brainless wonders that were Slytherin house's least intelligent students; namely, Crabbe and Goyle.

The latter was looking at her. "Oh," he finally said. "Okay."

Pansy lifted an eyebrow at him and drew her robes around her as she left the common room. The halls to the dormitories were lit by flickering candles; the light glanced off the stones of the wall.

The rhythmic tapping of her shoes echoed down the hallway. Pansy took a left, and opened the door to the room she shared with Millicent Bulstrode. Millicent was out, no doubt finding new and exciting ways to torture small animals. Pansy wrinkled her nose in disgust at this thought.

She closed the door behind her, and it locked automatically. Privacy was highly valued in Slytherin house, where backstabbing and theft were almost as common as nice, kind deeds surely were in Gryffindor tower. Of course, Pansy knew that she was partially secured from theft, since Draco was behind most of the amazing disappearing belongings. 

Draco had promised her that he wouldn't steal her things. Pansy hadn't believed him – what person in their right mind would believe him? – but nothing of hers was ever taken. Millicent, on the other hand, often complained of lost books and games and clothing.

She sat down on her bed, studying one of the paintings on the wall. It was a woman, looking wistfully at whoever had painted it. 

Ten minutes passed.

Fifteen minutes, and there was an almost imperceptible change in the air. Pansy blinked, then smiled. It seemed that Draco had succeeded. 

The warmth surrounded her, pervading the blankets she lay on. Outside, she could hear Draco talking. His voice grew louder, and then softer; the sound of his steps faded into the distance as he walked further away from her room.

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Pansy skipped breakfast the next morning. She spent the extra hour studying herself in a mirror and doing her hair. 

It came as absolutely no surprise when Draco walked in unceremoniously. He had a habit of disregarding the privacy needs of others, so Pansy had learned to padlock the door while she was changing.

"Where were you at breakfast, Parkinson?" he demanded imperiously. Pansy looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and continued tying her hair back. "Where do you think?" she asked, dropping her arms and looking at her reflection.

"Here, of course, actively losing weight. You are a _stick_, Parkinson. These came for you." Draco tossed two letters onto her bed. One of the envelopes was easily recognisable; the regular dark blue, from her parents. The other was white and she didn't know who that was from.

Draco crossed his arms, waiting for her to open them. Pansy knew he was every bit as curious as she was about what was in the white envelope. 

She opened the navy envelope first, just to spite him, and sat down on her bed. "Oh," she said softly, reading. 

"Well?" Draco asked crossly.

"Just from my parents. I am to stay here over the holidays." Pansy shrugged dismissively, and picked up the white envelope.

Opening it was anticlimactic. It was, in fact, a terribly dry letter from the Daily Prophet telling her that her subscription needed renewal. Draco didn't know this, so Pansy gasped theatrically and put her hand to her mouth.

"Oh," she said dramatically, feigning an expression of shock.

"Well?" Draco demanded, sounding very much like a younger version of his father. "What is it?"

Pansy quirked an eyebrow at him, and tossed the letter to the bed. Draco took it and skimmed it quickly. He rolled his eyes. "Very funny, Parkinson."

"That's what I thought," Pansy said innocently.

Draco did this every morning. Pansy knew it was his own twisted method of caring for people; he would never come right out and demand that Pansy eat something, because a Malfoy worried about no-one. Malfoys were self-sufficient and cold. Malfoys, quite simply, did not care.

So, in effect, Pansy had a personal mail-delivery service. Sometimes the mail delivery brought her a bun or two from breakfast, always not caring. 

"Get out," she said. "You're not supposed to be in here."

"So? There are a lot of things I'm not supposed to do," Draco drawled, leaning against the wall.

"Get out," Pansy repeated, opening the door. Draco lifted an amused eyebrow. Pansy narrowed her eyes.

With an exaggerated sigh, Draco strolled out. Pansy slammed the door behind him. Every morning, like a routine – it was almost comforting.

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Wednesday. The same as Tuesday, which was the same as Monday. Pansy veritably floated through life, paying attention to nothing in particular. Everything was the same. Day after day, week after week, year after year – things were always the same.

There was always Harry Potter. He was always the same; still had a certain childish charm about him, even at seventeen years old. Pansy would admit that he was fairly good-looking, but that was probably only because anyone was good-looking when standing beside Ron Weasley.

Harry Potter always had his yearly fight. Granted, the losses mounted on both sides, but Harry Potter was always there. Always with his friends, the epitome of a perfect Gryffindor, everyone's hero.

Draco was always there. Unlike Potter, he had aged spectacularly, and most of the female population at Hogwarts now could not remember a time when Draco Malfoy had not been devastatingly handsome.

Good girls, Pansy reflected, always went for the bad boys.

There was always Dumbledore. He looked more and more tired as the years passed, but he was there at every meal, present at every event. Pansy wondered if he only had one set of robes, since he always looked exactly the same.

One thing always changed. No matter what, there was always a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Every single year since Pansy had begun attending, there had been a different teacher. This year, it was a bad-tempered, middle-aged woman named Professor Roy who taught by lecturing.

Roy was currently shaking her wand at Seamus Finnigan, who had been playing hangman with Dean Thomas and ignoring the teaching.

"Someday this will all become useful and then you'll wish that you had listened in this class!" she ranted.

Pansy tuned her out. She rested her chin on her hand, staring off into space.

Twelve and a half minutes later, a note hit her head. She picked it up off the floor and unfolded it.

_Parkinson-_

What say we hex Weasley, explode a desk and get the hell out of here in the chaos? I don't think I can take another word from her.

Draco

Pansy looked over at Draco. He was smirking. She was not surprised. One nod, and they both surreptitiously pulled their wands out. Pansy didn't particularly like getting in trouble, but sometimes, it was worth the risk. "Furnunculus," she whispered, just as Draco's mouth formed the word 'incendio'. 

As they had both predicted, chaos spread throughout the room as soon as the desk caught fire. Pansy put her wand back down her sleeve and stared, mesmerised, at the column of fire. She traced the tongues of flame with her eyes, until a hand grabbed her wrist and jolted her out of her reverie.

In the midst of the confusion, nobody noticed Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson slip out the door. Roy was not the most attentive teacher, and once the fire was out and the hex was taken off of Ron, she taught the rest of the lesson, completely oblivious to the fact that two of her students were gone.

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Draco closed the door quietly behind them, still smirking. He hefted his book bag onto his shoulder and started walking down the hall. Pansy rubbed her wrist and walked alongside him. From the classroom behind them, they could still hear various students shrieking and Ron yelling "GET IT OFF!"

Draco chuckled quietly, shooting a glance back at the door.

"Where are we going?" Pansy asked. "We've got at least an hour until class ends."

Draco shrugged. "We could go back to the common room. Everyone is in class, so nobody would see us."

Pansy nodded, and they turned left down the next hall, heading for the statue that led into the Slytherin dormitories.

The atmosphere of the school was completely different when the halls were empty, Pansy noted. The absolute silence was eerie, and coupled with the ghosts drifting through the halls, it left one feeling a bit uneasy. She steadfastly kept her eyes forward, refusing to acknowledge the ghost that was floating through the wall on her right side.

"Scared of the ghost, Parkinson?" Draco's voice invaded her bubble of thought.

"You've got to admit, it's a bit spooky," Pansy said softly. "Everything is so...so quiet. So empty." She looked up at the ceiling, and the arches of the buttresses that supported it.

"I think it's peaceful," Draco said, an air of superiority in his voice. "When everyone is in class, there are no Gryffindors to ruin the effect. It's a beautiful school, if you just look at the architecture." He veered away from Pansy, and rested his elbows on a windowsill. "Look at the lake." He pointed to the water, which sparkled in the morning light.

Pansy came to stand at his side, holding her hands behind her back. She followed Draco's finger, and nodded in agreement.

Figures moved, as small as ants, near the lake. "Care of Magical Creatures class," Pansy observed quietly. She placed a hand on the window ledge, watching the tiny people move about, detached but appreciative.

"It's almost surreal," she said.

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Pansy didn't skip lunch. She was going to skip lunch, but Draco insisted that she eat something. She pretended to eat a bowl of soup for forty-five minutes, getting halfway through it by the end of lunch only with Draco's prodding. 

Draco was notoriously stubborn. Pansy remembered him when he was six, throwing a tantrum (albeit an elegant, Malfoy-like tantrum) because Lucius would not give him his cane to play with. He had finally resorted to sitting on all of his father's Ministry paperwork until he was given the cane. 

He was bored of the cane within five minutes. At least the tantrum had kept him occupied for the better part of an hour.

So when Draco said you were going to eat, you were going to eat and that was all there was to it. Very few people wanted to find out what happened when you denied a Malfoy what he asked for.

Therefore, Pansy ate.

"Go pick on somebody else," she grumbled quietly between mouthfuls. "No," Draco said. "Less talking, more eating. You're a wraith."

"You're not the Fat Friar either."

"What did I say about talking?"

That was the end of the argument.

All Malfoys showed how they cared differently. Lucius showed that he cared by buying out half the stores in Diagon Alley as gifts; Narcissa showed that she cared by sending profuse amounts of food; Draco showed that he cared by being an obnoxious, stubborn git. It was convoluted, but Pansy appreciated it all the same.

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The afternoon was eerily predictable. Hermione Granger got every single question right in Arithmancy, and Pansy was quite sick of her nasal voice by the end of class. There was nothing wrong with being smart, but flaunting it with a voice like that was disrespectful to the ears of others.

Pansy came out of that class with some lovely margin artwork on her sheet of parchment. She was sure that Draco would appreciate the tiny doodles of various ways that Granger could be mortally injured and/or lose her voice, never to be able to speak again.

Dinner was much the same, except that she ate her way through a small plate of vegetables instead of soup. 

After dinner came the arduous task of writing back to her parents. Pansy retreated to her room to do this; although there was never anything overtly personal in her letters, she preferred the privacy. 

_Dear Mother and Father,_

She absently brushed the end of the quill against her cheek. It was soft. She didn't know what kind of bird the feather came from, but it was her favourite; it produced a sharp, clear line when she wrote.

_I am doing quite well. How have you been?_

She left out the way that she skipped meals. Other than that, she was quite healthy.

_I am glad to hear that Morrigan finally had her kittens. Would you mind if I took one as a pet?_

If there was one thing she missed about her home, it was her cat. 

_My marks are quite good, as I have been working diligently at my classes. I am especially enjoying Arithmancy. So is Draco._

Draco always enjoyed logical things, which is why he was currently getting the highest mark in Potions in the whole grade. Ingredient plus ingredient led to the same result, without fail.

_I do wish they would heat the dormitories more consistently. Draco is of the opinion that it is a conspiracy against Slytherin House. Draco is a bit too paranoid for his own good._

'Draco is probably right,' Pansy reflected bitterly. 

_I need some more writing paper, as I am running low. Could you please send some?_

Seven sheets left.

_It was wonderful to hear from you again. _

Love,

Your daughter,

Pansy 


	2. Chapter Two

Just Like Me

Still dedicated to and written for Michi. This, as you may have noticed, is chapter two. My muse is disgruntled; he's not used to writing things that are _this_ long. Poor baby. Ending of this chapter will probably be deleted and completely changed. I don't like it.

Disclaimer: Same as first chapter: Harry et al are property of not me.

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December 21, 7:43 AM

_BANG._

Pansy sat straight up in bed as her door slammed open and a figure walked in. The figure tossed something onto Pansy's bed and pulled out its wand.

"Lumos," the figure drawled. 

Pansy's heart rate returned to normal. "Draco, you are a horrible, horrible person," she snapped, picking up the box that he had thrown at her.

"Thank you, Parkinson. Thought I'd just say happy Christmas before I leave." Draco put his wand away. "Open your present."

Pansy started on the wrapping paper. Knowing Draco, there would be at least seventeen layers, and half of them would be epoxied to the box. She leaned over the side of her bed, reaching into the drawer of her bedside table. "Your present is under the bed, in the green paper," she said as she pulled out a knife.

Draco knelt, and pulled out a large, beautifully-wrapped present. "Eurgh," he said, wrinkling his aristocratic Malfoy nose. "Don't you ever dust under there?"

"No," Pansy replied. "I leave it all there, just for you." She sliced through the layers, sawing as she hit one that was covered in epoxy.

"You're too kind." Sarcasm dripped from Draco's voice. "Hand me that knife."

"I'm using it. Transfigure something else." Pansy broke through the hard layer and ripped it off. A pile of wrapping paper landed beside her bed.

Draco picked up the wrapping paper and transfigured it into a knife. He neatly sliced the sides of the present open and pulled the paper off.

"A book. How original," Draco said, studying the cover. He turned it over, reading the spidery text on the back.

"You're welcome," Pansy replied, sawing through the third epoxy layer.

"Where did you get this?" Draco opened the book gingerly. "Last time I checked, they didn't carry books on ancient Dark magic in Flourish and Blotts."

"Knockturn Alley, of course." Pansy broke through the fourth epoxy layer and ripped the rest of the paper off. The black box that sat in front of her was the size of a small novel. Pansy lifted the lid, and looked inside.

"You bought me a lock?" She looked up at Draco, whose eyes twinkled with mirth. "Happy Christmas," he repeated, and went back to thumbing through his book.

"A lock," Pansy repeated, eyeing the offending object with exasperation. "Well, thank you."

"It's more than just a lock, actually. It'll keep out only those whom you don't want to come in. Everyone that you want to see will be able to get in. It's better than your padlock, anyway." Draco whistled in admiration as he found an especially interesting hex somewhere around page 143.

Pansy picked up a small silver-rimmed booklet, labelled "Instructions". She opened it, skimming through the basics.

_How to Lock your Parents Out but Let your Cat In._

That one was going to be particularly useful. "Thank you," she said, glancing up at Draco, who waved it off. "Do you have anything in here I could try some of these on?" he asked.

Pansy pointed at Millicent, who was a lying under her covers like a giant lump, snoring noisily.

Draco stood up and pulled his wand out.

"Draco," Pansy said. "No Dark Arts in school. Wait until you're back home. They probably have detectors here."

Draco nodded in affirmation and put his wand away. He glanced at his watch. "It's almost 8. Father will be waiting for me. See you after the holidays." He turned to leave.

"Have fun at home," Pansy said quietly, watching him open the door. "And say hello to your father for me."

Draco nodded, quirked a smile, and was gone.

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Three Slytherins stayed over Christmas holidays: Pansy, a fourth-year named Graham Pritchard, and a first-year boy whose name she didn't know. 

Most of the other students stayed; evidently, their parents felt that it was safer for them to be under Dumbledore's watch than at home. 

It was painfully lonely at meals. Pansy sat, pretending to eat, while the Gryffindors (Ron Weasley, mostly) threw various pieces of food at the Slytherin table, then pretended they hadn't. Evidently it was hilarious to them.

Pansy and Graham stuck together. Both of them had enough experience to know that lone Slytherins were targets for nearly every other house. The first-year boy learned the hard way; he staggered into the common room the very first evening, nursing a black eye.

Pansy learned a few things that night. One, the boy's name was Adam. Two, kids were cruel even when they were eleven years old. Three, if they couldn't use hexes, they used fists.

From then on, all three stuck together at all times. If one of the boys wanted to leave the Slytherin dungeons, Pansy would come with them. They all avoided injury that way.

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December 24, 11:18 AM

Pansy moved her queen. "Check," she said.

Graham chewed on his lip thoughtfully, before moving his castle to block the queen's advance.

Across the room, Adam lay on a sofa, reading. He glanced over at the board, studying the game. Adam was a small, wiry boy with dark brown hair and equally dark eyes. His family was the stereotypical Slytherin family; well-off and pure-blooded. He was, of course, not as well-off as either the Malfoys or the Parkinsons, but few were.

"If you move your bishop forward – yes, there – checkmate," Adam said, and returned to his book.

Pansy moved her bishop. "Checkmate. Good game." The bishop gleefully decapitated Graham's king.

"Good game," Graham echoed. He flopped back into the sofa with a sigh. "There's nothing to do around here. I'd suggest another game.." he gestured at the chessboard, "but-"

"But we've already played six games this morning," Pansy said, cleaning up the rubble on the board. It quickly reformed into the usual chess pieces.

"Exactly."

The door to the common room creaked open. All three of them looked up at it, as Professor Snape walked through.

"An owl has come for you, Ms. Parkinson," Snape said, indicating the eagle owl perched on his arm. It took flight, and dropped a letter in Pansy's lap. Pansy picked it up. It was addressed to her in Draco's elegant, sloping script. Curious, she opened it.

_Parkinson – Mother and Father want to know if you would like to come to the Manor for Christmas. Father would come to collect you this afternoon and you could stay the rest of the holidays if you want. It's really bloody boring here. Help.  
-Draco Malfoy_

Pansy smiled. She picked up her quill from the table, turned the letter over, and wrote a quick reply.

_Draco – See you this afternoon. It's really boring here too. Played chess six times this morning. Won all games. Help.  
-Pansy_

She tied the letter to the owl's leg and thanked it quietly. It hooted, and flew out the same way it had come in, which was being held open by Professor Snape. 

"I'll be going to Malfoy Manor this afternoon," she said in reply to his questioning look. "For the holidays. Draco invited me." 

"I see. I shall inform Professor Dumbledore," Professor Snape said. He nodded to the two boys, and left.

Graham looked at her, his eyes pleading. "Now we're going to be even more bored."

"And I won't be," Pansy said. She got up and made her way to her room to pack her things.

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Malfoy Manor was always spectacular in winter, this year being no exception. Pansy sat in the carriage beside Lucius Malfoy, as it trundled down the snow-covered pathway towards the house, which was positively massive. Trees, branches bending under the weight of the snow, lined either side of the road.

Pansy took this all in, feeling distinctly nostalgic. The last time she had seen the Manor in winter was during the Christmas holidays in her second year, when the Parkinsons had been invited over for a Christmas party. 

The carriage drew closer to the house. Through the windows, she could see house-elves bustling about with decorations. A tall, blonde woman stood near a mammoth-sized Christmas tree, directing the placement of ornaments. 

The carriage pulled up beside the steps leading to the door. Pansy carefully got out, and began to walk up the staircase, flanked by Lucius and two house-elves carrying her things. She reached the door, which opened when Lucius tapped it with his cane.

Quite suddenly, something shot past her legs and hurtled down the steps, followed by a cry of "Perdita, NO!"

Draco appeared in the doorway, looking exasperated. "Hello, Parkinson, excuse me." He brushed past her, nodding at his father, and ran down the staircase.

Pansy stared after him, bemused. She turned to Lucius, opening her mouth to ask what Draco was chasing. He answered before she could ask.

"Narcissa and I made the mistake of giving Draco a dog for Christmas," he said, raising an eyebrow at his son. "It has broken three of Narcissa's favourite vases so far."

Pansy winced, knowing how protective Draco's mother was of her vases. On the vast lawn, it seemed that Draco was beginning to catch up with the dog.

"He is quite a good runner, is he not?" Narcissa spoke from the doorway, looking amused. "Come in, Pansy dear. Let's get your things put into a guest room." She swept into the main hall, motioning for the house-elves to follow her. 

Twenty minutes later, Pansy was comfortably set up in a large suite near Draco's own. Her clothes were put away in a dresser, and she was exploring the spacious sitting room that the suite had. 

She pulled a book down from the bookcase, opening it. The Malfoys had a spectacular collection of books of all sorts, scattered throughout the house. She flipped through the book carefully, knowing that it was likely very old.

"Parkinson? There you are."

Pansy turned around as Draco walked into her room. "Hello, Draco." She smiled. "Thank you for inviting me here. It's already more interesting than school."

Draco shrugged dismissively. "Of course it is." He straightened out his robes, which were more than a little mussed from his impromptu race.

"Your father told me that you have a dog," Pansy said, putting the book back on the shelf.

Draco grimaced. "Perdita. She's half a year old. Husky. Can't seem to stop moving...Mother is going to have a conniption fit if she breaks anything else."

"Where is she right now?" Pansy asked.

"Being subdued by house-elves," Draco said, smirking. "Come on, I've got to show you the decorations." He walked out of the room. Pansy followed, closing the door as she left. "I'll never be able to find my way back here," she commented, looking down the vast hallway. 

"You'll get used to it," Draco replied, walking ahead of her. "If you can figure out Hogwarts, you'll be fine here."

"Do you have changing staircases too?" Pansy asked, raising her eyebrow.

"We can, if you want them," Draco shot back, turning left and continuing down another seemingly-endless hallway.

"Yes, I do so love it when I find myself going in a completely wrong direction," Pansy said, rolling her eyes.

"Just the other day, I was trying to get back to the common room and ended up bumping into a horde of Gryffindors," Draco complained loudly as he turned another corner and began walking down a large staircase. "It was almost enough to put me off my dinner. Someone should outlaw Gryffindors, for the good of the _cultured_ students. Oh – here we are."

They arrived in the main hall, and Draco stopped in his tracks as a shriek came from the next room, followed by a loud bark.

"MY CHAIR!"

"Oh dear," muttered Draco. "Maybe now is not the best time. Is there anything else you want to do, preferably far away from my mother?"

Pansy nodded vigorously, staring apprehensively at the doorway to the next room. "Could you show me the grounds? I haven't seen them since I was twelve."

Draco agreed. They hastily made their way to the door, where a house-elf fetched their cloaks for them

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Pansy shivered, drawing her cloak tighter around her. Behind her, the mansion stood out starkly against the cold, grey sky. "Where are we going?" she asked Draco, who was melting a path through the snow with repeated _Incendio_ charms. 

"The lake. You always liked it when you came here before," Draco replied. "Incendio!"

Pansy smiled. "Is it frozen over yet?"

"Yes, but you – Incendio! – can't walk on it. It's not thick enough. God, you'd think the house elves would have the pathways cleared off, but no, we have slacker elves!" Draco pointed his wand at the snow and blasted it away.

"Such a pity that you have to do all this manual labour yourself," Pansy said, her tone teasing. Draco wheeled around, glaring. "You mock me, Parkinson. This means war." He leaned down, and scooped up a handful of snow.

"You _wouldn't_," Pansy said, backing away from him.

"Want to bet?" Draco said, eyes twinkling. He balled up the snow.

"You are a terrible, horrible – eeeeagh!" Pansy made an effort to duck he snowball, but it was futile. "You will _pay_ for that, Malfoy." 

"Please, don't, I'm ever so frightened," Draco taunted. A split second later, he found a snowball heading straight for his face.

Pansy giggled.

"Parkinson," Draco said, his voice dangerous. He wiped the snow off his face, glaring malevolently. Pansy smiled sweetly, turned, and ran towards the lake. 

"Get back here, Parkinson!" Draco yelled, sprinting after her. 

Pansy fairly flew down the hill towards the lake, followed closely by an irate blonde, who was firing snowballs at a rapid pace. She reached the bottom, slipped, and skidded out onto the ice.

Draco stopped at the edge of the lake. "Parkinson, you should probably get back onto shore. I don't think the ice is thick enough to support you."

Pansy turned to face him, planting her hands on her hips. "Are you saying that I'm fat?" she asked, mock-sternly.

"I'm _serious_. It's not thick enough," Draco said, a slight frown on his face.

"Why, Draco! I do believe you're worried about me!" Pansy said, her voice delighted.

_CRACK._

Pansy froze.

"Okay, come back here slowly," Draco said quietly, watching the ice. Pansy, staring wide-eyed at the ice beneath her, didn't move. "Parkinson," Draco called. "Snap out of it."

Pansy looked back up at him.

"_Damn_ it all, Pansy!" Draco snapped. He ran out onto the ice, grabbed Pansy's hand, and dragged her to the shore. The ice gave an almighty crack and collapsed.

Pansy stood, rigid with shock, watching the snow sink slowly under the surface. 

"Parkinson. Look at me. How many fingers am I holding up?" Draco asked, holding up his index and middle finger. 

Pansy looked from the ice to Draco, her eyes wide. She looked at Draco's hand, and back up at his face. Draco sighed. "Come on, let's get back to the house, I'll get you something warm. You're okay." Pansy opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She nodded.

Draco led her up the hill to the house, his arm around her waist, supporting her. When they reached the house, he snapped at a house-elf to fetch a blanket and some hot chocolate, and led her back up to her room.

The house-elf was waiting for them when they got there. Pansy curled up in bed, wrapping the blanket around herself, and took the hot chocolate gratefully. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Draco nodded. Pansy sipped the hot chocolate.

"Well, welcome to Malfoy Manor," Draco finally said with a wry smile.

Pansy smiled, and took another sip. 


	3. Chapter Three

Just Like Me

See last chapter for notes and disclaimer. This was entirely written in a house in Bermuda, late at night, with the shutters making a terrible racket and a dog barking. It made my muse cranky, but for all his whininess, the fourth chapter is being written. Take that, muse.

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Pansy straightened out her dress robes, and checked her appearance in the mirror one last time. She finished fixing her hair just as someone knocked on her door.

"Yes?" she called.

"Come on, Parkinson, it's time for dinner," Draco's voice sounded from the other side of the door.

Dinner at the Malfoy Manor on Christmas Eve was always insanely formal. Pansy knew even before she opened the door that Draco was in his best robes, immaculately groomed – but then, he always was. Appearing as less than perfect in public was tantamount to disaster for him. 

She opened the door. He looked perfect. "How much time did you spend on your appearance today?" she asked, closing the door behind her and starting down the hall.

"Wrong way, one hour." Draco caught her sleeve and tugged her in the opposite direction.

"You're such a woman," Pansy said offhandedly, following him.

"I'm well-dressed, not feminine." Draco rolled his eyes. "How much time did it take you to do your hair?"

"One hour."

"Only took me twenty minutes to do mine," Draco said. "Therefore, I'm not a woman."

"You're less of a woman than I am."

"I'm not a woman."

"You've got the facial structure to be one. If you let me do your makeup I'm sure I could make you quite pretty, you know," Pansy said, smiling predatorily.

Draco rolled his eyes and ignored her.

"Your nails are quite nice, too. Blue, I think; navy," Pansy studied his nails.

"I'm ignoring you," Draco reminded her.

"Why, with some good cosmetics, you could be almost as beautiful as I am!" Pansy exclaimed delightedly. 

Draco ignored her all the way to the dining room, while Pansy rambled loudly about how positively lovely he would look in a dress. Various paintings in the halls gave them strange looks as they passed.

Lucius and Narcissa were already sitting, talking quietly, when Draco and Pansy arrived. The table, which was normally mammoth-sized, was now only very, very large. At a good fifteen feet from end to end, it seemed impossible to carry on an actual conversation while eating at it.

Pansy was sure that they would manage. As long as outside noise was kept to a minimum and one remembered to speak very clearly, normal conversation would happen. It always did, and it was always falsely polite, except when Draco opened his mouth. After that happened, conversation quickly disintegrated.

Narcissa finally acknowledged Pansy and Draco, and the two took their seats. With precise timing, the first course – a lovely soup of some sort – appeared on the table. Pansy selected a spoon from the array beside her plate that would have befuddled any person who was not used to it. Being a Parkinson, Pansy was brought up eating her high-quality baby food with a selection of three spoons.

The forks and knives were introduced when she was two. Whenever she returned to Hogwarts from the summer holidays, she always had to pause a moment at the first meal and remember that in uncultured areas, people only used one fork and one knife. It was mind-bogglingly simple. During her first year at school, she had brought her own cutlery to dinner and divided the food into courses. It had made it feel a bit more like home.

When Pansy brought the first steaming spoonful to her mouth, she found that it was – of course – delicious. The perfect temperature, perfectly made – everything about dinner at the Malfoy Manor was perfect, down to the perfectly folded napkins.

She made polite conversation throughout dinner, backing up Draco's opinion that Hogwarts was an uncultured backwater fit for none but the Weasleys. Of course, his opinion was much more strongly stated.

"And it all comes in communal bowls. They honestly expect me to take my food from the same bowl as brainless sods like Crabbe and Goyle!" Draco ranted. "Incidentally, Mother, thank you for the packages."

Narcissa inclined her perfectly coifed head towards her son before he continued on his verbal rampage.

Lucius half-listened silently, occasionally taking spoonfuls of the soup before him.

"...and you should see the cups, I swear the house-elves only rinse them with water. I always bring my own," he added haughtily. "I refuse to drink from a cup that may have touched the lips of a Mudblood."

"Your father did the same thing, in his school days," Narcissa murmured, sending an amused glance at her husband. Lucius nodded, raising his glass to Draco. "Like father, like son," he said, taking a sip. "Bringing your own goblet is an appropriate precaution. I always felt that the house-elves purposely rotate the cups between tables, thus ensuring that every cup is touched by a Mudblood." He looked faintly disgusted at the mere thought.

"Exactly," Draco agreed vehemently. "I'll bet anything that those bloody elves purposely send me Potter's cup, or Weasley's, or Granger's. Eurgh!" He shuddered. 

"I was fortunate enough never to have to deal with any Grangers in my own school days," Lucius said.

"You did, however, have James Potter and his group," Narcissa reminded him.

"Who?" Lucius said, a fake expression of confusion on his face. "I'm sorry, I don't remember anything of the sort. I have selective amnesia."

"I don't blame you," Draco sneered. "James Potter's son and his followers are probably just as bad as his father's. I am lucky that I come from _distinguished_ lineage. I have _heritage_ and _pride_ behind _my_ family name."

The conversation went much like this throughout the rest of dinner. Pansy listened with some interest until the Potter family was insulted for the two-hundredth time that night, at which point it got old, in her opinion. There were only so many times one could insult something in one night before it got boring. Better to wait until the next day and continue.

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Malfoy Manor at night was eerie. The corridors stretched for miles, winding around the rooms and doubling back on themselves. Pansy stayed inside her rooms; she was scared that if she left, she would get lost in the vast maze of the second floor and never find her way back out.

The window in her room overlooked the hill and lake. The ice glinted coldly at her in the moonlight, and the snow sparkled. More than once, Pansy was sure that she had seen a wolf moving about near the forest. It would not be wholly surprising to find out that she was right, for all manner of things lived on the Malfoy grounds. 

However, when the wolves began to howl that night, she was _very_ glad of her second-floor window with blinds that would close, and of her door that locked. She had never liked the sound of wolves howling.

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Christmas morning dawned cold and clear. A house-elf visited Pansy's rooms at precisely 9, and informed her that breakfast was in an hour. She was momentarily worried about having no gifts for Draco's parents, but quickly came back to her senses. The Malfoys, no doubt, would have exchanged gifts already. She requested of the house-elf that a bath be drawn for her, and set about the task of picking an outfit for the day.

The same house-elf returned at 10, ready to escort her downstairs to breakfast. Pansy stuck another pin in her hair and swept out of her room.

Lucius and Narcissa were already in the dining room. Draco, however, was nowhere to be found. 

Lucius cast an irritated glance at the clock, and turned to the house-elf. "Find my son," he snapped.

"No need, Father," Draco drawled as he strolled into the room. "My apologies for being tardy." He slid easily into the seat next to Pansy. He was still in pyjamas and a dark green dressing gown. Nevertheless, he held himself with the same regal bearing that he had when dressed in the finest clothing.

"Good morning, Draco," Narcissa said. Draco nodded to her, and to his father. Lucius sat forward in his seat. "It is a beautiful morning," he remarked.

Breakfast was the usual sea of insults, cloaked in a veil of formality and diplomacy. Pansy counted twenty-three separate occasions where the Weasley family was mocked, and seven times in which it was hinted that the Weasleys were all incestuous. She didn't bother to count the other families and individuals who had their dignity stripped away that morning.

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"For fuck's sake!" Draco exclaimed, attempting to rein Perdita in and failing miserably. Perdita galloped off at a good clip, dragging Draco along behind her.

"Do try not to be crude, Draco," Narcissa rebuked from her position on the main outer staircase. She watched with detached amusement as her only son was dragged into the forest by his overactive pet. Pansy walked down the stairs, and followed the tracks in the snow.

Draco's tracks meandered wildly through the trees, and occasionally it seemed that he had nearly collided with one. A spray of snow in front of a particularly large ash indicated that Draco had done some hasty braking and only nearly missed smashing his precious Malfoy face on some extremely hard bark.

She heard his voice in the distance; he was cursing loudly. Pansy noted that the curses seemed to be coming closer, and decided to move out of the way.

She stepped behind a bush.

In the distance, moving rapidly closer, she could see a spot. The spot was followed by another spot, who would be in great trouble with his mother if she could hear what the spot was saying at the moment.

"Slow the fuck down, you great sodding mindless animal, you're going to rip my fucking arm off!" the spot shrieked as he passed Pansy, who couldn't help herself and broke down with laughter.

"Oh, _very_ bloody funny, Parkinson!" the spot yelled as he was dragged off into the distance.

Pansy felt a pang of what may have been sympathy, but was more likely indigestion. She decided that it could be sympathy just for today, and Petrified the dog.

"You couldn't have done that half an hour ago, could you?" Draco commented acidly as he rubbed his shoulder. 

"You weren't walking her half an hour ago. She's a strong thing, isn't she?" Pansy walked over to Draco, and began to poke at his shoulder.

"Trust you to state the obvious – ow!" he added.

"You've strained a muscle, I guess," Pansy said, still poking.

"There you go again with the obvious. Stop poking me, Mother will have it fixed in a moment." Draco pulled away, just as Pansy cast a healing spell. Draco paused, and rotated his shoulder. "So you _are_ useful sometimes, then," he sniped, turning towards the dog.

"You're welcome," Pansy said, rolling her eyes.

The dog stayed perfectly still. Draco glared at it. "Now how the hell are we going to move Perdita back to the house?" he mused aloud.

"I could un-Petrify her and you could walk her back," Pansy suggested innocently.

"The fuck are you on, Parkinson? She'll kill us both," Draco said, rubbing his chin in a thoughtful manner. 

"Finite Incantatem," Pansy said sweetly, and proceeded to make friends with Perdita.

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"She's really such a sweet dog," Pansy said. "Yes, you are, aren't you?" 

Perdita made happy dog noises as Pansy scratched behind her ears.

"Out of all the people she could like in this house, she likes _you_," Draco commented. "No accounting for taste, I suppose."

"She likes you too. You just refuse to spend the time to get to know her," Pansy cooed, rubbing Perdita's stomach.

Perdita made more happy dog noises.

"She's a dog. You can't get to know a dog," Draco said, his tone disdainful.

"Shows what you know about dogs then," Pansy shot back. She rolled Perdita back over and gently pushed her in Draco's direction.

Perdita galloped over to where Draco sat on the couch, somewhere in the middle of the Malfoy's sitting room. She jumped up on him, panting.

"Get off me," Draco said, eyeing his dog with disfavour. Perdita ignored him.

"I think she likes you. No accounting for taste," Pansy said, mimicking Draco.

"Fuck off," Draco said.

"Language, Draco," came Narcissa's voice from the next room. "Sorry, Mother," Draco said, not sounding sorry at all. "Fuck fuck fuck," he muttered rebelliously under his breath.

"Draco," Lucius' voice carried a warning. "Check."

"Oh, dear," Narcissa said. A brief silence followed, and then the sound of a small marble chess piece being hammered into bits by another small marble chess piece.

Another brief silence. Another crunching noise.

"Checkmate," Narcissa said.

Perdita panted, two and a half inches from Draco's face. "Your breath smells," he told her. Pansy smacked him upside the head. "Never insult a lady," she said primly.

"She's a dog, not a lady," Draco protested.

Pansy smacked him again.

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The next few days were spent in an idyllic haze of Draco, dog, snow, and a lot of chess. Apparently Draco's parents were both quite good at it. Pansy took to watching their games in the evening, since they always promised to be interesting. 

Narcissa was quite a cunning strategist. When watching her beat Lucius around the board with only a knight, it was not hard to see where Draco got his personality from.

Lucius slew the knight with his bishop, and continued on to smash various other key pieces.

Narcissa killed his queen.

"Damn," he said, and took out her castle. She contemplated the board for a moment before moving the other knight forward, and sitting back in her chair in quiet satisfaction. "Checkmate."

"Is not," Lucius responded. "I can still move here." He demonstrated.

"No, you can't. My bishop will kill you. See?" She demonstrated.

There was a pause.

"Damn," he said again.

"Good game," she said, sweeping the rubble off the board. 

"Language, Father," said Draco, his tone honey-sweet. Lucius shot a cold glare at his son, who smiled innocently back.

Five days after Christmas, Draco realised that he was immensely bored, and decided to make a trip down to London. "You can come, if you want," he told Pansy imperiously.

"Have fun, dear," Narcissa said, and turned a page. She continued reading.

"Don't spend too much," Lucius said, reading over his wife's shoulder. Draco had told Pansy that Narcissa hated it when people read over her shoulder, so Lucius did it just to irritate her. He had no interest in Tolkien, although Narcissa had taken a liking to _The Hobbit_.

"It doesn't matter how much I spend, father. We could buy the whole of London and still be immensely rich," Draco said, crossing his arms and looking very much like a spoiled child, which he was.

"When you have made your own fortune, you can buy Zurich if you want. For now, don't spend too much," Lucius said. He stopped his wife from turning the page again. "Just a moment, dear, I'm not done the last paragraph."

Narcissa rolled her eyes.

"How much is too much?" Draco asked, narrowing his eyes.

Lucius shrugged. "Two, three thousand. No more."

"Fine," Draco said irritably.

"What are you going to spend that much on, anyway?" Pansy asked as they left the house.

"It's the principle of the thing," Draco snapped. "I'm a Malfoy. I don't like limits on my spending money."

"It's hardly a limit. You could buy any member of the Weasley family with that much money," Pansy said, tossing her hair back and walking down the staircase.

"Why would I want to own any member of the Weasley family?" Draco said, wrinkling his nose. "They're disgusting. I suppose I could make them do embarrassing things if I owned them, though..."

"Exactly," Pansy said, and they left for London, discussing the various ways to humiliate a Weasley.

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Draco strolled in a Malfoy-like fashion into Gringotts, where he immediately had money-hungry goblins swarming all over him. Pansy watched him as he leaned against the head goblin's desk, thoughtfully ruminating on which of the Malfoy's numerous vaults he should remove money from.

He eventually decided on vault 774. The decision was met with a chorus of approval from the goblins, and Draco beckoned imperiously to Pansy. They made the journey down to the vault mostly in silence.

Pansy caught a passing glimpse of one of the Parkinson vaults, and pointed it out to Draco.

They exited Gringotts with a fist-sized bag of Galleons. "One does not carry large bags of money," Draco told her. "Besides, I'll just tell the shopowners to charge it to my father."

This made sense. Pansy fingered her own money bag and looked around at the shops that lined Diagon Alley. Draco ducked into a small passage, and Pansy followed; they emerged in Knockturn Alley.

Draco gave a sigh of relief at the sight of the shops, filled mostly with somewhat less-than-legal merchandise. "I think I'll buy a dragon's egg," he said, smiling wickedly.

Twenty minutes later, they emerged from a small store near the end of Knockturn Alley. "Pity they were out of Chinese Fireballs," he said. 

"I like Opaleyes better anyway," Pansy said, eyeing the bag that held a very expensive egg. "What will your father say?"

"He likes dragons," Draco said, with a shrug. "He won't mind, as long as it's raised so it won't kill us. I wonder if anyone around here can tell me where I can get a chimera?"

It turned out that someone could, and they did, and Draco paid them well for it. 


	4. Chapter Four

Just Like Me

Usual disclaimer/dedication applies.

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"An Opaleye? I thought you had better taste than that," was Lucius' only comment upon his son's return.

"And I managed to get a chimera as well," Draco said pompously.

"If it breaks anything, it goes," Narcissa warned.

"I'll keep it outside," Draco said, shrugging.

"All right, then," Narcissa said, and returned to _The Hobbit_.

The chimera was delivered three days later. It immediately took a liking to Narcissa, but refused to let Draco anywhere near it, much to the amusement of everyone but Draco.

The rest of the holiday was taken up with attempts to hatch the Opaleye, while containing both the chimera and Draco, who was very annoyed that his new pet wanted to gut him.

"I'm likeable! Why doesn't it like me?" he complained loudly to anyone who would listen.

"Hush, dear. Your father and I are trying to read," Narcissa said, sending a pointed glare at her husband, who innocently retreated from his position at her back. "It's a good book," he protested.

"It's a Muggle book. You don't like Muggle books," Narcissa said.

Lucius wrinkled his nose at the book. "I'm going to go read something _suitable_, then." He swept off and returned a few minutes later, clutching a huge, dusty tome.

"Looks interesting," Narcissa commented archly.

"It is. Much more so than your Muggle filth," Lucius said, seating himself in a chair opposite Narcissa's. 

Pansy was always greatly amused by Draco's parents. She overheard many Gryffindors wondering loudly about how Draco had become such a nasty little bastard; evidently, these Gryffindors had not met Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy.

When it came time to return to Hogwarts, Draco was endlessly disgusted by Pansy's long and sappy goodbye scene with Perdita.

"I'll miss you," Pansy said mournfully, rubbing behind Perdita's ears.

Perdita whined, her eyes sad. Draco moved forward to hurry Pansy up, and was confronted by sixty pounds of glaring dog.

"Does _nothing_ like me?" he complained half-heartedly as they left for the train station.

"It's not like you've been very nice to her, you know," Pansy observed.

"Shut up, Parkinson," Draco said, glaring.

"As you wish," Pansy said, smiling angelically.

Draco muttered something under his breath about Parkinson conspiracies with his dog and chimera conspiracies with his mother. Pansy ignored him and boarded the train.

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The train was occupied mainly by Slytherin students, who took a great deal of pleasure in hanging around the compartments of younger Hufflepuffs and tormenting them.

The seventh-year Slytherins, for once, were not among those who were tossing Hufflepuff luggage out the windows. They were mostly crowded into one small compartment, whispering quietly among themselves and gaping at the Dark Mark on Blaise Zabini's arm.

"Does it hurt much?" Millicent said in a stage whisper.

Blaise shrugged. "Sometimes," he said. "Not very much, and only when he summons us."

Crabbe stared in open-mouthed, idiotic awe, and Blaise rolled his sleeve down. "Anyway, when are you all getting yours?" he asked, leaning forward and looking especially at Draco.

"Father hasn't mentioned it to me," Draco said, frowning. 

"That's funny, because I heard him talking to your father about you," Blaise said. "Maybe he's keeping it as a surprise."

"Father doesn't like surprises." Draco looked deep in thought for a moment. Pansy sat, silently, wondering what her parents had in store for her.

"I'm sure you'll be getting yours soon. The Dark Lord doesn't like to be kept waiting, and he'll probably want you to join up. You, too," Blaise added, looking at Pansy.

"Join up with what?" said a suspicious-sounding voice from the door. Draco looked over, and his eyes narrowed. "Nothing, Finnigan. Now scram. We don't need the likes of you around here."

Seamus looked at all of them, mistrust written clearly on his face. From behind him, they could hear Dean Thomas' voice. "Come on, Seamus, don't mind them."

Draco stretched out a leg and, with his foot, shut the compartment door in Seamus' face. Seamus turned away and left, talking to Dean in a low voice.

Pansy unwrapped a Chocolate Frog absentmindedly, and looked at it. It had always seemed sort of barbaric to eat something that was still moving, even if it was only a spell. The frog glared up at her, as if daring her to bite one of its limbs off.

Draco plucked it out of her palm and bit its head off. Pansy raised an eyebrow and looked at the wizard card that came with it. 

"Any good?" asked Blaise.

"Dumbledore," Pansy said. The whole compartment groaned.

"Can we set it on fire?" Goyle asked eagerly.

"Why not?" Draco responded, smiling in an altogether disturbing fashion. Dumbledore glared reprovingly at them. Draco set him on fire, and watched, satisfied, as Dumbledore's beard burned.

Millicent woke up. "What're you doing?" she asked sleepily.

"Burning things," Crabbe replied. Millicent went back to sleep.

Pansy sighed, and leaned her head against the window. Behind her, the fire fizzled out, and Draco nudged the ashes with the toe of his boot.

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During the winter, Hogwarts was almost as beautiful as Malfoy Manor. The lake was frozen over, and snow had gathered on the surface of the ice. On the morning of the first Saturday back, a large number of students attempted to go skating on it, but the teachers immediately kicked them off, saying that there was no way of knowing whether or not the ice was thick enough to support them.

"No way of knowing, my arse," Seamus muttered as he trudged back to the school. "We're wizards. Of course there's a way of knowing."

Hermione began to lecture Seamus on the uses of magic and how there wasn't a spell for everything. Draco, who was sitting on a rock some ten feet away, threw a snowball at her head. Hermione shrieked as the cold snow went down the back of her robes.

Draco sniggered, and looked back toward the lake. "I wonder how the squid survives the winter every year," he mused. 

"Same way as the Merpeople do, I suppose," Pansy replied. She ran her hand through the snow, and had an idea.

Ten minutes later, most of the sixth and seventh year Slytherins were gathered outside. Pansy gathered them all, and explained how the other houses always made snowmen, but the Slytherins never did, so they would for once. Draco immediately voted himself to be the designer.

"We can't sculpt axes through the head, Draco," Pansy reminded him. Draco pouted. "How about headless people? Can you do headless people?"

"Yes, I think."

"What about headless people with arrows through their torsos?"

"I don't think so."

Draco pouted again, but pulled out a piece of parchment from his robes and started scribbling away. The rest of the Slytherins started rolling large balls of snow with a convenient spell that Blaise's father had taught him. That way, nobody would actually get wet or have to do any work. It was ideal.

Draco was smiling while he scribbled. That was a bad sign. "How well can you do likenesses?" he asked, his eyes glinting dangerously.

There was a pause. The Slytherins looked at each other and shrugged. "Well enough, I guess. Pansy, you're an okay artist, aren't you?" a sixth-year queried.

"I suppose," Pansy said slowly, wondering what Draco had in mind.

Draco cackled. A second-year Gryffindor nearby shrieked and ran away. Pansy removed the parchment from Draco's hands and raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think we'd get in trouble for this?" She handed it to Blaise, who raised both eyebrows. Draco's brilliant idea was a sculpture of a large squid that was in the midst of eating Dumbledore.

"Well, maybe. But we can demolish it after we're done," Draco said. 

None of the Slytherins could find fault with this logic, so they began to pile snow.

An hour and a half later, Pansy put the finishing touches on the sculpture, which was mostly held up with magic, since the squid was waving its tentacles around. She had tried to tell Draco that it wasn't squid that had tentacles and that he had drawn an octopus, but he refused to listen to her, and had resorted to covering his ears and singing "I can't hear you". Crabbe and Goyle thought this was endlessly funny and rolled around in laughter until Crabbe knocked himself out on a rock, at which point Goyle had laughed even harder and Millicent Bulstrode had joined in.

All in all, it was a smashing success.

"I don't want to destroy it," Draco said, patting the top of the octopus' head. "We'll just leave it here and if anyone asks, it was those three that made it." He jerked his head toward Crabbe, Goyle and Millicent.

The rest of the Slytherins thought this was a good plan, so they all trooped inside to complain about the cold in their heated dungeon. Being of significantly lower intelligence than the rest, Goyle and Millicent stayed outside wondering why Crabbe wasn't moving.

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The school quickly got back into the regular schedule – classes, meals, Quidditch, homework, more classes – and ran smoothly for about a week and a half. Blaise showed up less and less frequently at breakfast, and when he did, he looked as though he would keel over from exhaustion.

Three weeks into the new year, Snape took Blaise aside after class. After that, he was not gone as often at night, although Blaise confided in Pansy that Voldemort was not happy about his skipping meetings.

Pansy didn't ask what Voldemort did to show his disapproval. She had a feeling that she didn't want to know.

The routine of school was disrupted in early February, when the parents of Laura Madley, a fourth-year Hufflepuff, were killed during a Ministry raid on a Death Eater meeting. Blaise skipped breakfast that morning.

The school mourned for her, but Laura's parents were only the beginning. Students who mourned for Laura's parents were soon buying black clothes for funerals of their own family members. The death toll mounted, and more Slytherin students joined the ranks of the Death Eaters.

Tracey Davis, a witch in Pansy's year, once swore that she saw Terry Boot at a meeting. This caused minor confusion among the students, since all the Slytherins were quite suddenly civil towards him, and the Ravenclaws suspected something evil was afoot. 

Draco was not happy about all of this. In third year, he had sworn that he would be the first in their year to join the Death Eaters, and three people had already beaten him to this, if the rumors about Boot were true. 

"I can't think of any reason why Father would not want me to join," he said one afternoon as he flopped down on the couch beside Pansy.

"Mm," said Pansy, knowing that he would continue talking no matter what she said.

"I mean, he's one himself. He's been telling me for years that I would follow in his footsteps. He _knows_ I want to," Draco said, rubbing his forehead with his hand and looking tired.

"Why do you want to?" Pansy asked, curious.

"Because I believe in what he says, just like Potter and his lot believe in what Dumbledore says," Draco said with a shrug. "Wizards have been persecuted for millennia, and he's just willing to turn a blind eye to it all."

Pansy listened. She nodded, indicating that he should go on.

"We're the more powerful race. We should at least be living equally with them, if not acknowledged as superior! But we're not. And to make matters worse, we're diluting our blood. Look at the wizards of thousands of years ago; they were so much more powerful than the wizards of today." Draco leaned forward, staring into the fireplace of the Slytherin common room. 

"There are still pureblooded families," Pansy offered.

"No, there aren't. What passes as pureblood today isn't completely pure. There are always some Muggles included in the chain, even if it's only one. I'm not completely pureblooded; my great-great-grandmother was a half-blood." He tore up little strips of a page from his Charms textbook and tossed them into the fire, watching them burn.

Pansy didn't quite know what to say. "I thought you were completely pureblood."

"Yes, everybody thinks that, because it's what we tell them. Nobody so far has had the sense to look up our family tree and point out the Mudbloods in it, and I'm certainly not going to tell them about the black sheep of the family." He snorted.

"Still, one half-blood a long way back won't affect you that much, right?"

"What if all the people who married into the Malfoy family had half-bloods in their ancestry? Let's say that, beginning with great-great-grandmother, my ancestors married people with great-great-grandmothers who were half-bloods. What does that make me?" Draco asked.

"Give me a piece of paper," Pansy said. "I can't work that all out on my own."

Draco handed her a sheet of parchment and stole a quill from a nearby second-year. Pansy started writing. After about five minutes, she looked up. "If what you said is what happened, you're ten percent non-wizarding blood."

"See?" Draco said. "Now imagine what it would be like if a few more of my ancestors were Muggle-born, or had half-blood parents. My family, which is one of the most pureblooded families alive today, would technically only be three-quarters wizarding blood. We're one quarter less powerful than our ancestors were. Now what about families who have much more diluted blood?"

Pansy nodded, taking all of this in with a frown on her face.

"Take Potter, for example," Draco said, sitting back and ripping another page out of his textbook. "He's not a terrible wizard. He is, however, a half-blood. How powerful would he have been if his father had married a pure-blood?"

"Much more, I suppose," Pansy said, watching the fire.

"We're slowly making ourselves into Muggles, Parkinson," Draco said moodily. He crumpled up the page and tossed it into the flames, watching it burn. "Sooner or later we'll be so diluted that the simplest charms will take months to learn."

"I see what you mean," Pansy said slowly. "So Dumbledore doesn't know any of this?"

"Oh, he's been told. He refuses to believe it, even though the evidence is all around us." He threw out his arms. "Look at this place! The amount of magic it must have taken to build it, and it was all done by four wizards! Do you see any contemporary Salazar Slytherins building secret chambers that haven't been found even after a millennium? No, because nobody has the power to do it anymore!" He got up and started pacing around. "Now do you see why I want to be a Death Eater?"

Pansy nodded. She looked up at the high arches of the Slytherin common room, and wondered which ancestors of hers were Mudbloods.

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In late February, Draco decided to take matters into his own hands, and wrote to his father. He waited impatiently for a reply, and spent most of the next morning's breakfast watching the owls fly overhead. When there was none, he sulked for the rest of the day and stayed up late into the night, scowling at anyone who came into the common room.

Pansy came to breakfast the next morning and found Blaise and Draco talking quietly with each other. She sat down across the table from them, and took an apple from a bowl.

When the mail arrived, one of the Malfoy owls dropped a letter in front of Draco. Pansy thought he would open it in a frenzy of haste, but he had recovered his usual languid manner, and opened it slowly and deliberately. Crabbe and Goyle immediately converged upon him, wanting to know who had written to him and what was in it. He shooed them away and read the letter.

A smile spread over his face, and he handed it to Blaise. Blaise skimmed it, grinned, and handed it back. Draco held it out to Pansy, who took it uncertainly.

_Draco_,

_I have discussed this matter with the Dark Lord, and he agrees that it is nearly time. You will need to learn a few things before you are ready, but you are intelligent and have Zabini to help you. I am confident that you will be ready before the end of the school year; indeed, I hope that you are adept enough to be ready within a month, however that may be unduly optimistic of me._

_Zabini will tell you what you need to know. Write to me when you are ready, and try to be fast; I would not have my only son be the last of his year to join._

_Your father,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

Pansy looked up, and smiled at Draco. He grinned back. "Congratulations," she said, handing the letter to him. Draco folded it up carefully and placed it on top of his plate. He drew out his wand and burnt it, sweeping the ashes onto the ground. "Zabini tells me that Crabbe and Goyle were rejected by the Dark Lord," he said quietly, leaning forward in a conspiratorial manner. "He wants people who are intelligent enough to know why they are following his orders, not idiots who will blindly do everything he says and trip themselves up."

"Not surprised," Pansy said, taking a sip from her pumpkin juice. 

"Those two would probably forget to wear their masks and robes to the meetings," Blaise said, looking at the two in question. "I bet you anything they'd even be stupid enough to wear their Slytherin robes on missions."

"Oh, they'd lose their masks the minute they received them," Draco said. "What did their fathers say about it?"

"They haven't been told," Blaise said, shrugging. "If they do request that their sons be initiated, he would probably tell them that they are too young. Something like that. They're not intelligent enough to figure out that others of our age have already joined."

"Has my father mentioned anything about me joining?" Pansy asked hesitantly. 

Blaise thought for a moment, and shook his head. "Nothing so far."

Pansy nodded, staring into her cup.

"Why?" Blaise asked. "Do you want to join soon?"

Pansy looked back up at him. "I don't know," she said. "I suppose not just yet. I'd like to graduate with good marks, and I can't do that if I'm out all night."

Blaise inclined his head. "A valid reason," he pronounced. "Just as long as you're not on his side." He looked at Dumbledore, who sat placidly at the head table, watching over his charges.

Pansy shook her head. "No, not after what Draco told me."

"What'd you tell her?" Blaise asked.

"Dilution of blood," Draco said, helping himself to toast and marmalade. "Loss of power in contemporary wizarding society."

"It's a bit disturbing," Pansy said, and accepted a piece of toast that Draco handed to her with the command, "Eat". 

"I know," Blaise said. "I'm going to look up my ancestry and see how pureblooded I am, first chance I get. Want to come with me?"

"Yes," Pansy said. "Yes, I would."

"Eighty-nine point one percent," Draco said. "But don't tell anyone."

Blaise shook his head. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Pansy palmed her toast and skipped breakfast for the third day in a row. It fell to the floor, landing marmalade-side down.

"Good girl," Draco said. "You need to eat more."

Pansy nodded silently. 


	5. Chapter Five

Just Like Me

Disclaimer as usual.

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Pansy spent very little time with Draco over the next few weeks. Whenever she walked into the Slytherin common room, he was always hunched over a book with Blaise or listening to him. She assumed that Blaise was preparing Draco for induction into the Death Eaters, as Lucius had asked, but she was nevertheless somewhat jealous.

February passed into March, and on the morning of the first Friday, Blaise hailed Pansy in the courtyard.

She turned, giving him a smile. "Hello, Blaise."

"Hi. Listen, remember how I asked if you wanted to come look up your ancestry with me?" he asked. Pansy nodded, and he continued, "Well, we're allowed to go to Hogsmeade tomorrow, and we can use that chance to get down to London instead. Sound good?"

"Yes, that would be wonderful. When and where should I meet you? How are we traveling?" Pansy queried.

"Whenever the other students leave, in the Slytherin common room, Floo powder."

Pansy wrinkled her nose. "Floo powder is so dirty, but I suppose it'll have to do."

"If you knew how to Apparate, we could do that, but you can't learn by tomorrow. Sorry about the dirt," Blaise added. "See you." He ran a few paces forward and tapped Terry Boot on the shoulder. Terry's friends looked at Blaise suspiciously, while the black-haired Slytherin started up an animated conversation with the Ravenclaw in question.

Pansy smiled, and headed to her next class, which happened to be Charms. She took her usual spot beside Draco, who was asleep on his textbook.

She poked him cautiously. "Draco?"

No response.

"Draco, you're messing up your hair."

Draco stirred, muttered something, and was still again.

"He was up quite late last night," Blaise said, coming to stand by their desk and looking apologetic. "On the bright side, he learned one of the required spells perfectly."

Pansy chewed on her lip for a moment, thinking. "He can't sleep through this class, Flitwick would notice. Maybe if we propped him up?"

Blaise walked around to the back of Draco's chair, and pulled him backwards so that it looked like he was sitting up. Draco's head lolled onto his shoulder.

"His head's a bit of a problem," Blaise said.

"Hold his head up straight," Pansy said, and pulled out her wand. Blaise complied.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Draco froze in place, and Pansy smiled. Blaise looked at Draco, his expression worried. "He can't stay this way the whole class."

"No," Pansy replied. "But for a while. Until he wakes up."

They left Draco like that for half an hour before Pansy unfroze him, and found that he had woken up the moment they had Petrified him. He was not amused.

Pansy and Blaise were very amused.

Typically of him, Flitwick didn't notice a thing. He continued talking while Draco ranted in a whisper at his two companions.

"You couldn't have woken me up?" he hissed. "Shook me, poked me, yelled something in my ear – ugh, my hair! I slept on my hair!" He smoothed it back, grumbling.

"We tried poking you, but it didn't work. Sorry," Pansy whispered. 

Draco shot Blaise a death glare, mouthing the words "Wake me up next time". Blaise grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. 

Class proceeded in a fairly regular fashion. Ron Weasley had to try his charm numerous times before it actually worked, and then only because of the help of Hermione Granger. Harry Potter quietly persisted, not asking for help from his friends, and eventually was able to do the charm satisfactorily. Neville set fire to Dean Thomas' desk.

The Slytherins came out of the class wiping away tears of laughter from the desk incident. Draco slung an arm around Pansy's shoulders, supporting himself while he laughed at the mental image of Dean's pants on fire.

Dinner was uneventful, apart from someone dropping Veritaserum in Mandy Brocklehurst's drink. Snape was livid, presumably because his storeroom was the only place one could get Veritaserum in Hogwarts.

The rest of the night was spent congratulating Tracey Davis on a prank well pulled. Mandy would be spouting the truth for hours; she had already confessed to having a crush on Seamus, cheating on a Transfiguration exam, and absolutely despising Padma Patil. She had consequently fled the Great Hall in tears. Tracey accepted compliments graciously, and soon left the crowd to sit in the corner plotting her next attack, this time on a Hufflepuff.

Pansy went to bed feeling unusually content.

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The morning sun would have shone on Pansy, but for the fact that the Slytherins had a dungeon and not a tower, and there were no windows. Instead, the pallid glow of a lamp woke her, and she got up, contemplating whether or not she should skip breakfast.

Like so many other days, the answer was yes.

She showered, and dressed, and pulled her hair back loosely. Draco had told her once that he liked her hair that way. 

And, speaking of Draco, he was currently barging into her chambers. As usual.

"You should try knocking for once," Pansy said, taking out her cosmetics. "Hasn't it ever occurred to you that I might be changing?"

"Yes, it has," Draco said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Pansy raised an eyebrow at him, smiled, and turned back to her mirror.

"I brought you something to eat," Draco said, sitting on her bed and producing an apple. "You've been skipping meals again."

"Why Draco, I didn't know you cared," Pansy said, applying her cosmetics carefully.

"It's unhealthy. Catch." He tossed an apple at her. Pansy turned, caught it right before it hit her head, and glared reprovingly at Draco. "Don't throw things at me right after I've done my hair."

"Oh, and _I'm_ touchy about my appearance?"

"Oh no! I slept on my hair!" Pansy mimicked, and ducked when Draco threw a pillow at her. It hit her mirror and bounced off. "Don't make me throw my lipstick," she threatened, brandishing the little tube.

"You'd throw that at me?" Draco said, putting on a mock-wounded expression. 

Pansy tossed the lipstick. It hit Draco's forehead. Draco made an extended gurgling noise, fell back on the bed, and attempted to look dead.

"You're the most alive dead person I've ever seen," Pansy said. "Accio lipstick." She caught the lipstick and began to apply it. "You never were good at acting." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Draco sit up and glare.

"I'll forgive you for that comment if you eat," he said, and nodded at the apple.

Pansy looked at the apple, and pondered this deeply. "Hmm," she mused. "Draco's forgiveness, or eating?"

"Just eat the bloody apple, Parkinson," Draco said, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement.

Pansy wrinkled her nose. "That would involve smudging my lipstick."

"So cut it up into smaller pieces!" Draco said.

"With what?" Pansy asked innocently.

"Oh, for the love of – give it to me." Draco transfigured Pansy's second pillow into a knife, caught the apple as it was thrown toward him, and began to cut it.

Pansy giggled and turned back to the mirror.

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The students trickled out of the castle, talking excitedly and fingering their coins. Pansy, leaning on a windowsill many stories above them, watched them leave.

A horde of fifth-year Gryffindors swept past, shooting her dirty looks. One of them leaned over to his friend and whispered, "We'd better be careful or she'll know how to get into the common room."

Pansy felt an overwhelming urge to inform them that she knew where the Fat Lady was, knew that it was the entrance to Gryffindor, and had known since third year. The only thing barring her from entering and stealing their things was the password; she didn't know it.

There was also her conscience, but over the course of her years at Hogwarts, that had mostly been eradicated.

When all the Gryffindors had passed by, she walked down the hall toward the Fat Lady, who looked at her suspiciously as she passed. 

"Oh, give it a rest," Pansy said irritably. "I'm not going to try to break in."

The Fat Lady looked indignant.

"And," Pansy added, "Pink is _definitely_ not your colour."

"Well, I never!" the Fat Lady gasped. Pansy smiled, and continued on her way.

Blaise was waiting for her in the Slytherin common room, sitting comfortably on the couch in front of the fire. He looked up when she came in, and a smile spread over his face.

"Hello, Blaise," Pansy said, walking to the chair that had her coat slung over its back. "Shall we?"

Blaise fetched his own jacket and uncapped a small, clear bottle. He tipped some dark powder out onto his hand and tossed it onto the fire. "We shall." He motioned for Pansy to go first. "Just go to Diagon Alley, and we'll find our way from there."

Pansy nodded and stepped into the fire, wincing as the ash settled upon her hair. "Diagon Alley!"

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She stepped out of the fireplace, and looked down at herself in dismay. Her robes were covered in ashes, and when she took out her pocket mirror, she saw that her face was too. "Oh, dear," she murmured, and looked around for the nearest washroom.

Behind her, the fireplace popped again and Blaise stepped out, already brushing his sleeves off.

"I'll be right back," she told him. "I can't be seen looking like this."

Blaise looked bewildered. "Like what? You look fine."

"With this grime all over me! It's positively disgusting," she said, and made her way through the usual crowd in the Leaky Cauldron toward the door designated "Witches".

Blaise shrugged, and sat down at a table to wait for her.

Pansy cleaned her face, and brushed the ashes off her clothes, and left them scattered on the floor for the help to sweep up. She washed her hands, tidied her hair, and left the washroom before anyone noticed the spectacular amount of dirt she'd left on the ground.

Blaise was finishing up a mug of something warm and dark when she returned. He looked up, and smiled. "All done?" he asked, draining the last of his drink and setting the mug down on the table.

Pansy nodded. "Where exactly are we going?"

Blaise rose, leaving the mug where it sat. "It's not in Diagon Alley, it's a few blocks away, so we've got about a five minute walk ahead of us. It's a large stone building with collections of family trees going back a few millennia, so we're bound to find something interesting there."

He pushed open the door to the Leaky Cauldron, squinted when the bright sunlight hit his eyes, and continued talking. "I've been there a few times, so I know my way around fairly well, but it might have changed since I've visited it last."

Pansy followed him outside, shading her eyes with her hand. He turned left, and she walked with him, past crowds of Muggles. Pansy looked around her at the soaring buildings, made of red brick and grey stone and one that looked to be a tower of glass. She looked back at Blaise when she realized he was talking.

"So, we've managed to persuade Dumbledore," he said, grinning broadly and pressing a little button on a street corner. Pansy looked at the button in confusion, and back at Blaise. "Sorry, I didn't catch that. What did you persuade Dumbledore to do?"

"Hold a Spring Ball. We didn't get a Yule Ball, and it's our last year, so a bunch of us from different Houses went and talked to Professor Snape, who went and talked to Dumbledore, who eventually agreed." A light changed, and Blaise started walking across the street. Pansy hurried to catch up.

"That's wonderful," she said when she was walking alongside him again. "Who's going to be arranging it?"

"A committee, I'm not sure who it's made up of yet, but a bunch of students are going to do everything." He turned a corner. Pansy followed. 

"Are you taking anybody?" she asked. He shrugged. "We'll see. Anyway, we're almost there. Do you see the one straight ahead, tall building, older-style architecture, cars parked in front?"

Pansy nodded.

"Well, it's the one beside it. Not a particularly noticeable building but it serves its purpose." Blaise strode toward the building, and Pansy hurried to keep up. 

The building blended in, and Pansy noticed that the Muggles passed by without giving it a second glance. Quite frankly, most of them didn't even give it a first glance; their eyes slid over it as though they saw it, but didn't register its existence. Pansy was intrigued, and if it wasn't for Blaise holding open the door, she could have stayed out there the whole day and watched the Muggles walk by.

The interior of the building was not much more elaborate than the exterior. Two staircases curved off from the entrance hall and led upstairs, to what looked like shelves and shelves of books. 

"They have the most amazing system of reference here," Blaise was saying excitedly. "Come on, let's see if we can find your family in it."

Blaise ducked down a badly-lit hallway, and they walked past a seemingly endless amount of closed doors. Pansy tried to see inside them, but the windows were cracked and dirty, and it was almost impossible to make anything out. 

The room at the end of the hallway contained a number of bizarre objects. Desk upon desk sat there, with large, almost square boxes sitting upon them. The boxes had glass fronts, and plastic things in front of them with the alphabet, and the numbers, and a few other things on them. Pansy looked around curiously.

"These," Blaise was saying proudly, "are Muggle machines, but the wizards in charge thought that they were a brilliant idea, and use them to keep everything organized. As far as I know, it's going quite well. Let's see if I can't work one!"

Pansy wandered around the room, looking at the high windows that stretched across the far wall, while Blaise tapped away happily on the plastic thing. She opened one window, which looked out into the tiny alley between the building they were in and the next one. Not the most spectacular view.

"Here you are," Blaise said. Pansy turned away from the window and wove her way through the maze of desks until she reached the box that Blaise sat in front of. On the glass screen, the words "PARKINSON, PANSY" stood out in black against a white background. A line stretched upwards from her name, linking to the names of her parents which, in turn, linked to the names of their relatives.

Blaise pressed a few buttons on the plastic thing, and the words moved to show more names branching off. Tiny, short biographies sat below each name. Pansy read some of them and skimmed others. She frowned. "There's my cousin, but why does it say that he's married?"

"Maybe he forgot to tell you," Blaise suggested.

"He's my relative. He wouldn't forget to tell his family members." Pansy peered at the wife's biography and did a double-take. "No wonder he didn't tell us, she's Muggle-born."

Blaise winced, and pressed a few more buttons. The screen shifted to show her great-grandparents and their family members. Pansy settled into the chair beside Blaise's and skimmed their biographies.

Over the course of the next few hours, Pansy read through the history of her family. She unearthed various interesting facts, including that one of her great-great-great-grandmothers was half-Veela.

"So that's why my mother is blonde," she commented, and moved onto the notably eccentric family of her half-Veela ancestor's brother, her great-great-great-great uncle. According to his mini-biography, his most prized possession was his pet sock. Pansy continued reading.

She was perusing a granddaughter of her four times great uncle when Blaise made a choking noise. He pointed at the granddaughter's husband.

Pansy choked. "A Weasley?! Oh, ugh!"

"They probably don't know they're distantly related to you, since her maiden name wasn't Parkinson," Blaise said, scrolling down. "Oh, good – it's not the branch of Weasleys that includes Ron. They died out, actually."

Pansy was still staring at the screen, horrified. "At least I don't have any Weasley blood in me!"

Blaise looked sympathetic. "If it helps, I'm distantly related to Seamus Finnigan."

"Finnigan isn't as bad as Weasley," Pansy said. She glared at the screen, and proceeded to determine how pureblooded she was. She eventually came up with the satisfactory result of approximately 82% pure-blood.

It was nearing six o'clock by the time they left. Blaise was talking excitedly about an ancestor of his who had worked on a project with Salazar Slytherin. Pansy privately thought that one of her ancestors, a man who had been one of Slytherin's closest friends, was much more impressive.

At Blaise's suggestion, they stopped at the Leaky Cauldron for dinner before heading back to school. Pansy looked in disgust at the menu, which was mostly made up of regular heavy pub fare. She opted for a light salad and a glass of water, although she really would have preferred to skip the meal.

They returned to Hogwarts at quarter past eight. Pansy thanked Blaise and was about to retreat to her dormitory, when Blaise caught her arm.

"If there's a Spring Ball," he said, "will you come with me?"

Taken by surprise, Pansy nodded. Blaise grinned broadly and released her. "Glad to hear it. Later!" He walked down the hall, toward his own room.

Pansy opened the door to her dormitory, and immediately smiled, half in exasperation and half in amusement. "Draco, you great lunatic, get out of my bed. How did you get past my lock?" she demanded, gesturing to the lock that Draco had given her for Christmas.

"I kept a copy of the manual, and I refuse," Draco said calmly, not looking up from his book. "Your bed is more comfortable than mine." He stretched, and settled into the pillows.

"Move over, then," Pansy retorted. She shut the door. Draco stretched again, lazily, and slowly shifted over. Pansy rolled her eyes, sat down next to him, and pointed her wand at Millicent's bed. "Accio pillows!"

Millicent's six pillows came flying over. One of them knocked Draco's book out of his hand before settling down next to Pansy. Cursing, Draco reached over the side of the bed and picked it up. Pansy set the pillows behind herself and reached over to her bedside table. She picked up a novel of her own, which was a steamy romance set in northern Africa, opened it to where she had left off, and began to read.

They read in silence for at least ten minutes before Draco glanced over at her book and burst out laughing. Pansy narrowed her eyes. "Are you laughing at _Love in the Desert_?" she said, leveling a glare at Draco.

Draco nodded, still snickering, and grabbed the book out of her hands. He turned it over and began to read the summary in a dramatic, sultry voice.

"'_Jennifer is on vacation when she meets the most handsome man she has ever laid eyes upon. She is shocked when he turns out to be the ruthless_'…Parkinson, you can't seriously like this crap!" Draco's voice went back to normal, and he looked at her, amusement written all over his face.

"You're an insensitive male. You don't understand the needs of women," Pansy said, and grabbed her book back. "Now excuse me, Jennifer and Abdul were in the middle of arguing." She snuggled into the pillows, pulling the blanket up over her legs, and continued reading.

It was hard to read when an obnoxious blond was snickering in the background. Pansy lowered her book and glared. Draco grinned back. "I strongly dislike you right now," Pansy said primly, and returned to the teary row that the two main characters were having.

Draco laughed and went back to reading his novel.

_Love in the Desert_ was heart-wrenching. Pansy snuggled further into her pillows, reading, and hoping that the fight would be over and they'd be back to being in love.

By the time the fight ended, she found that at some point, she had stopped using Millicent's pillows as head-rests and started using Draco's shoulder. It was less bony than she had expected, so she continued, getting drowsier as the night went on.

They read, in amicable silence, until Millicent started banging on the door and demanding to be let in. Draco gave an exaggerated sigh, put a bookmark in his place, and rose. He opened the door. "Yes?" he said.

Millicent blinked at him. "Can I come in?"

"No," Draco said, his tone bored. "Go sleep on one of the couches in the common room."

Millicent nodded, and lumbered off. Draco watched her go. "You know, I didn't think she was _that_ stupid," he commented, closing the door. He turned back to Pansy, who was curled up in the spot that Draco had been sitting, and was fast asleep.

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Pansy woke up the next morning. She sat up, and discovered that she had been tucked in carefully, and the pillows had been arranged under her head. Her book sat on her bedside table, with Draco's bookmark tucked in it.

Pansy smiled, and picked the book up. She removed the bookmark, set it down beside her, and continued reading. 


	6. Chapter Six

Just Like Me

Disclaimer as usual.

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Dumbledore announced the Spring Ball at breakfast on the first morning back from Spring Break. The whole student body was delighted, until Dumbledore explained that it was for fifth-years and up only. The fourth-years and below sighed morosely and returned to their meals.

Pansy poked at her fruit salad. Students all around her excitedly discussed whom they would invite. Pansy glared at them, briefly wishing that she hadn't agreed to going with Blaise.

Blaise, who was sitting a few seats down from her, smiled. Pansy smiled back quickly and returned to staring at a mango.

A jab in the side brought her out of her reverie. It turned out to be Draco. "I didn't give you that fruit salad so you could meditate on it. Eat."

Pansy flipped a piece of orange at Draco and ate the pineapple that was under it. The orange catapulted past Draco's shoulder and hit the side of Crabbe's head. Crabbe didn't budge.

"So, going to the ball?" Draco asked, buttering his piece of toast. 

"Yes, I am. Blaise asked me a while back," Pansy replied, eating the mango that she had been meditating on. 

"He what?" Draco snapped. He put down his toast and turned to look at her.

"Asked me to go to the ball with him," Pansy said, and pulled a face. "I don't know why I agreed."

Draco glared malevolently at his butter knife for a moment, before speaking again. "Just so you know, you're coming with me to the graduation ball."

"I'd love to," Pansy said with a smile.

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By the next week, nearly everyone had a date. Draco was going with Tracey, and it was _very_ public knowledge that Ron Weasley was escorting Granger. Pansy greatly enjoyed sitting in the library, watching students nervously asking each other.

The rumour going around was that Harry Potter wasn't going with anybody; Pansy wasn't surprised. She had a feeling that Potter would be a bachelor forever.

The ball was to be held on the last Saturday in March. Pansy already had elegant robes for it, unlike some students, who panicked and Floo'ed to Diagon Alley for a lightning-fast visit to Madam Malkin's.

On the day of the ball, Pansy locked Millicent out of their room for the afternoon so she could do her hair in peace. She may have been going with Blaise, but a public appearance was a public appearance, and Pansy intended to look her best.

It took her nearly the whole afternoon to prepare. Her robes were a deep red, and she knew that Blaise would be wearing blue. Not quite the colour she would have chosen for him, but nevertheless she was certain that it would be better than a Weasley wearing green.

Precisely half an hour before the ball was scheduled to begin, someone knocked on Pansy's door. "One moment," she called. Quickly putting her remaining earring on, she rose and opened the door.

Blaise smiled sheepishly. "Hi," he said, and presented her with a bouquet of flowers.

Pansy, determined to make the most of this mismatched attempt of a date, smiled and accepted the flowers graciously. "Thank you. Come in, I'm just about ready."

Blaise walked into the room, and looked around. Pansy quickly finished applying her makeup, put her shoes on, stood up straight and smiled brightly. "Shall we go, then?"

Blaise smiled, and offered her his arm. She took it, and they left.

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The Great Hall was decorated with flowers, birds, and cut-outs of little bunny rabbits. It was disgusting. At the end of the hall usually occupied by the teachers was a stage of sorts, on which a band was warming up. Blaise chattered away as he led her toward a table.

The other students trickled in, until the Great Hall was teeming with activity. Pansy watched the entrance, pretending to listen to Blaise and occasionally nodding and smiling. 

Draco, of course, was five minutes late: just late enough for everyone to witness his entrance. Pansy smiled a little; she could guess how much time Draco had spent on his appearance. He swept in, his black clothing making his already pale skin seem luminous. His gaze flicked over the crowds of people, settling finally on Pansy. He smiled.

Pansy returned the smile, and forgot for a moment that Blaise was still talking.

Tracey, standing beside Draco, tugged on his sleeve and whispered something in his ear. He nodded, his expression returning to utter boredom. The two of them disappeared into the crowd.

Blaise continued talking. Pansy plastered a fake smile on, and pretended to listen. She had once been told that she was an excellent actress.

She continued to pretend until the band struck up the first song, and couples began to flood the dance floor. Blaise interrupted himself. "Come, the dancing's begun!" He took Pansy's hand and tugged her out into the middle of the room.

To Pansy's surprise, he wasn't a bad dancer, although he wasn't particularly good either. He stepped on her toes a few times, but didn't seem to notice.

It was far from romantic. While dancing, they carried on a debate about the merits of classical versus popular music. It lasted three whole songs, until Pansy finally managed to convince him that all music had its good points. After that, they fell silent.

Halfway into the fourth dance, Pansy was occupied in staring at a certain stone on the opposite wall, when a person appeared behind Blaise's back and tapped him on the shoulder.

Pansy fought to keep from smiling _too_ widely when Draco smoothly nudged Blaise out of the way. "May I cut in?" he asked, and whisked Pansy away without waiting for an answer. She didn't look back.

They ducked through the crowd, until they were sufficiently far away from Blaise, whom Pansy imagined would look awfully bewildered. He didn't seem the type to be annoyed by cutting in. In her experience, talkative people were generally pretty easygoing, and Blaise was the most talkative person she knew.

Draco's arms circled her waist, and he grinned at her. "You looked ever so interested in him," he commented, steering her toward the edge of the crowd. Pansy smiled. "Lost your date?" she asked.

Draco nodded, glancing over to the drinks table. "As far as she knows, I went to get a drink. I just might take a bit longer than she thought about it. Davis is insufferable in large doses."

They reached the doors of the Great Hall, and Pansy raised an eyebrow. "We're leaving? So soon? What a shame," she deadpanned. 

Draco laughed. "Cry me a river, Parkinson. We might as well leave, it's a terribly boring ball anyway."

"Blaise helped arrange it. Could it possibly be interesting?" Pansy glanced at Draco. "I hope we're not going outside. This robe isn't built for warmth, you know."

"It's March. It's not cold." Draco walked down the steps leading to the double doors.

"There's still a nasty breeze coming from the north. It may not be cold for you, but that's because you're wearing more than one layer." Pansy gestured at her robe, which was made of very thin silk. 

"That's your only layer, then?" Draco whistled appreciatively. Pansy smacked his arm. "No, you idiot, I do have some things on under it. I'm just not dressed as heavily as you are."

Draco glanced down at his heavy velvet robe, which lay open over a dark blue shirt and black pants. He shrugged the robe off and draped it over Pansy's shoulders, before pushing one door open and walking outside.

"Just have to have your way, don't you?" Pansy wrapped the robe around herself and followed Draco. 

"Always," he called back over his shoulder. "I'm a Malfoy."

"Like father, like son," Pansy said, rolling her eyes. She walked faster and caught up with him.

The sun had just set an hour before, and the moon was rising. Draco picked his way down the steep path that led to the lake, which sparkled, reflecting the moonlight. After a few minutes, Pansy stopped in her tracks. "I can't walk down this hill in these heels," she said, planting her hands on her hips. "I refuse to risk breaking my neck for one of your whims."

"You wouldn't die for me? I'm hurt," Draco teased, turning around. Pansy rolled her eyes. "I would, but not because you want to wander around at night. Ask me that again when you're in mortal danger."

Draco regarded her for a moment, an odd expression on his face. Abruptly, he walked back up the path, picked her up, and carried her down toward the lake.

"Much better," Pansy said, smiling.

"You are much too light," Draco said, a frown creasing his face.

"My weight is fine," she replied.

"You're too light. If you even hint that you think you're overweight, I will drop you into the lake," he warned. 

"I'm not fat, but I could do with a little less fat on my hips." Pansy glanced down at herself.

"Well, I think you're beautiful, and I have excellent taste. Also, I'm a Malfoy. Therefore, I win the argument."

They reached the bottom of the hill, and Draco put her down carefully.

They walked together, silently, around the lake. A gust of wind blew across the water, causing Pansy to shiver and pull the robe more tightly closed.

"You know, you and Zabini make a terrible-looking couple," Draco said finally, breaking the silence.

"And Tracey looks terrible beside you," Pansy replied.

"Davis always looks terrible." Draco grinned.

"That's not true," Pansy protested half-heartedly. "She has her good points."

Draco considered this for a moment, then shook his head. "No, she doesn't, although I admit that she's not as repulsive as Bulstrode."

"Millicent looks like an excessively repulsive man with breasts. Nobody could possibly top her." Pansy shuddered.

Draco snorted with laughter, and agreed.

They continued walking. The water of the lake stirred, startling a small flock of birds that had been on a bush by the shore into flight. 

"You shouldn't have gone with Zabini," Draco grumbled, sounding like a petulant child. "You should have gone with me."

Pansy reached over and took Draco's hand, squeezing it lightly. "I know. Next time."

Draco smiled at her, and squeezed her hand back. They continued walking in amiable silence, almost halfway around the lake by now, near a large outcrop of rock. Just as they were about to pass it, Draco paused, and tugged Pansy toward the rock. When she looked at his, her expression questioning, he grinned. "Come on," he said, and gently pulled on her hand again.

Pansy followed him. Draco sat down, facing the lake, and pulled her down beside him. She sat, and he put his arm around her, holding her close.

"It's beautiful," Pansy said softly. Far off, at the other end of the lake, a fish jumped. The ripples spread slowly. Pansy followed them with her eyes.

She could feel Draco nodding in agreement, his cheek pressed against her hair. He stroked the palm of her hand with his thumb, and watched as the ripples touched the shore. 

"Tracey's not good enough for you." Pansy rested her head against Draco's shoulder and looked up at him.

"Oh? And who is?" Draco's lips quirked into a brief smile.

"Me, obviously," Pansy said. She smiled, and was about to turn back to watching the lake, when Draco caught her chin in his hand. Pansy's eyes met his; they were almost silver in the moonlight, instead of their usual cold grey.

She closed her eyes as Draco drew closer, and then his lips were pressing softly against hers. His hand moved from her chin, and cupped her cheek. 

They separated, and Draco smiled. He let go of her cheek, took her hand again, and whispered, "I agree."

Pansy laced her fingers between his, and leaned into Draco. He circled her waist with his arm, and they turned back to the lake. A school of tiny, silver fish swarmed by, disappearing into the dark depths.

On the top of the hill, light gleamed from the windows of Hogwarts, but other than those tiny pinpricks of brightness, the castle blended into the night sky.

Another fish jumped. The splash it made when it hit the water again was barely audible.

The moon shone down, illuminating the two figures who sat on a rock, talking quietly, until they both realized that they were supposed to be back in their dormitories. The taller figure picked the smaller one up, and carried her back to the school, where they opened the great double doors and disappeared inside.

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Blaise was just as friendly as ever the next day, leading Pansy to think that her conclusions about him had been right: he was incredibly easy-going, and didn't mind if his date was stolen right out from under his nose.

Tracey, however, was extremely miffed and refused to talk to either Pansy or Draco until Draco apologised.

"Apologise?" Draco said incredulously when Pansy told him. "Malfoys don't apologise."

"Tracey won't be talking to you for a while, then," Pansy said, amused.

"Good. Dealing with her was getting to be irritating," Draco said, and finished doing his hair.

They walked to breakfast, taunting each other. "What beautiful hair you have!" Pansy exclaimed, and received an elbow to the ribs. Not a very hard jab, but she gasped and turned on Draco anyway. "Domestic abuse! Woman-beater!"

Draco raised both eyebrows. "I hardly think that counts as beating you, Parkinson."

"I am mortally wounded, Draco," Pansy said, her eyes large and sorrowful. "In my heart." She placed her hand dramatically over her chest, and pretended to faint.

Draco caught her and set her on her feet again. He bowed exaggeratedly. "Now, was that something a woman-beater would do?"

Pansy gave him a measured look, and finally said, "If the woman-beater was trying to win back his lady's heart so that he could abuse her again, yes."

Draco rolled his eyes and wrapped an arm around Pansy's waist, leading her toward the Great Hall. "Come on, you prime example of Battered Women's Syndrome. Breakfast awaits."

"Forcing me to eat!" Pansy exclaimed. "Crueler and crueler!"

A group of passing Hufflepuffs gave them a collective look that conveyed how utterly puzzled the poor little badgers were at this odd Slytherin behaviour. Pansy fell into a fit of giggles, and Draco picked her up and carried her the rest of the way.

He deposited her upon the top of the Slytherin table, beside the plate of fruit. Sitting down on the bench, he plucked an apple from the array of fruit and tossed it to her. "Eat."

Pansy cut the apple into sections, and popped one piece into her mouth. "Only the apple," she said when she had swallowed. "I'm not eating any of your heavy _porridge_."

"Neither am I, the stuff's disgusting," Draco said, an expression of distaste crossing his face when he looked at the bowl of lumpy porridge. He leaned back, looking for the two idiots.

"Crabbe, Goyle. Want some porridge?" he called, locating them a few seats down.

They looked at each other, looked back at Draco, and nodded. "I like porridge," Crabbe called back.

Draco passed the bowl down, and picked up an orange. "What about this? It's not porridge," he said, tossing it from hand to hand.

"Apple only," Pansy repeated, and ate another section. Draco rolled his eyes, which was as close to admitting defeat as a Malfoy could get, and reached for the marmalade. He spread it on his toast and took another apple.

Pansy reached over the plate of toast and picked up the water pitcher, pouring another cup for herself. While she was occupied with this, Draco took the opportunity to sneak more apple pieces on her plate.

The whole room looked up when Ron Weasley burst through the doors, yelling "Harry! Hermione!" loudly. When he saw the stares, he stopped in his tracks, apologised quickly, and continued on his path to the Gryffindor table.

"I almost pity his parents," Draco said.

Everyone in the room could hear Ron's frantic conversation with his posse. "Yes! Blue!" he was saying, gesticulating wildly.

"Why would she change her dress colour?" Hermione said, frowning.

"I don't know, she just muttered something about pink not being her colour and flounced off to find a matching hat," Ron said, sounding utterly confused. "And she's demanding that somebody talk to the Headmaster, she probably means you, Harry, and get her name changed."

Pansy, catching on, burst into another fit of giggles. Draco looked at her curiously.

"Changed to what, the Blue Lady?" Harry said incredulously. He put down his muffin and got up.

The whole Gryffindor table stared, and started to talk among themselves.

"What do we do what do we do what do we do?" Ron asked, hopping from one foot to the other.

"Well," Harry began, "I guess it's her choice. If she wants a blue dress, I mean, she can have one. We can talk to Professor McGonagall about it later."

Ron looked at him like he had three heads. "She's been the Fat Lady forever and a day! She can't just change now!"

Hermione sighed, and began to butter another roll. Harry took Ron outside, talking to him in a quiet, measured voice about overreacting.

Pansy continued her fit of mirth, ignoring Draco's questioning glances. Eventually, he pulled her down off the table and demanded to know what was so funny. She told him.

"Well, at least we know that our statue isn't self-conscious about his looks," Draco said, downing another cup of juice. "He's terribly ugly, and he's been there so long that we'd have noticed any paranoia by now."

"Statues can't change their clothes," Pansy said. She fought to keep from laughing again.

She failed. 

Draco rolled his eyes, and it occurred to Pansy that only a Malfoy would have rolled his eyes at least three times (not counting those that may have occurred while she was away from him) before 9 AM. 

Pansy was in high spirits for the rest of the day. She and Draco stole away after dinner, and they lost themselves in the top floors of Hogwarts. Only the house-elves ventured to some of the places farther up, and they spent hours discovering rooms and halls and balconies. 

When they returned to their rooms, it was nearly 11. Pansy unlocked her dormitory, and turned to say goodnight to Draco. He caught her around the waist and kissed her, taking her by surprise. She smiled into the kiss, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Goodnight, then," she said when they parted, a brilliant smile on her face. Draco grinned. "Sweet dreams," he said, and walked down the hall toward his room.

When Pansy woke up the next morning, she couldn't remember what her dreams were, but she knew that they had indeed been sweet. 


	7. Chapter Seven

Just Like Me

Disclaimer as usual.

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_Pansy was in a temple. Tall pillars surrounded her, receding into the distance. Far above her, the stars sparkled against the night sky. She began walking, following the straight path through the hypostyle hall._

The night air was sweet, laced with the fresh scent of water lilies. Pansy's linen tunic brushed lightly against her legs as she walked past the columns, and wound her way through a smaller temple. She emerged onto the terrace overlooking the sacred lake, and descended to the edge. She knelt, studying the water…

"Pansy."

_Pansy stood, and turned. The bright colours of the temple walls stood out, but nobody was there. She looked up._

"Pansy, wake up."

_The priest walked around the corner, holding out his hand to Pansy. She reached out, and took it…_

Pansy opened her eyes. Two grey eyes stared back at her. Pansy rubbed her eyes, and turned over, burying her face in her pillow. 

Draco chuckled. "Good morning. You slept in."

Pansy sat up straight, horrified. "What time is it?!"

"Calm down. It's only 8:00. I brought you breakfast." Draco gestured at the plate on Pansy's bedside table, which held a croissant and a cup of some sort of juice. 

Pansy slid out of bed. "You know I don't eat breakfast. Turn around." When Draco complied, she stripped off her nightgown and picked up her uniform from where it was lying, neatly folded, on a chair.

"It's only a croissant. Eat it," Draco said, watching the opposite wall.

"I'll eat half." Pansy pulled her skirt on.

"Three-quarters," Draco bargained, lying back on Pansy's bed.

"Fine," Pansy said. She reached for her shirt and tie.

"Nice body," Draco said. He lay on the bed, looking back at her with a mischievous grin on his face. Pansy threw a sock at him. "No peeking," she said, and pulled her shirt on. Draco heaved a disappointed sigh.

Pansy buttoned her shirt up, knotted her tie quickly, and pulled her sweater on over her head. Draco sat up and picked up the juice. Pansy took the cup from his hands and drank it quickly, while turning to the mirror. "I look terrible. Why didn't you wake me sooner?"

Draco shrugged. "You looked like you were dreaming something nice."

About to fix her hair up, Pansy paused, and smiled. She leaned over and kissed Draco's cheek. "Thank you."

Draco grinned, and stole a quarter of her croissant. "You're welcome."

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Pansy sat cross-legged on her bed, neatly writing out her Arithmancy assignment, which would later be copied by Draco. Draco would have done it on his own, but he was out with Blaise, learning an assortment of nasty (and illegal) curses.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, and drew a chart. The numbers fit easily inside it, making so much logical sense. Pansy didn't understand those people who didn't understand Arithmancy.

Her door creaked open, and she looked up. "I thought you were with Blaise."

Draco closed the door behind him and sat down on the bed, brushing her papers aside to make room for himself. Pansy carefully placed the sheets in a pile and set down her pen.

"Blaise got summoned," Draco said, lying back. "Ah, well. Doing the Arithmancy homework?"

"Yes, and now that you're not busy, you can do yours." Pansy giggled as Draco groaned. He waved a hand at her. "You enjoy it so much. _You_ do it."

"You'll fail your exam, you know," Pansy warned. She returned to the chart she was working on.

"No I won't. Malfoys never fail, and I'm a Malfoy. Hadn't you noticed?" Draco drawled.

"Of course. Nobody else has hair like that," Pansy reached over and nudged a strand of Draco's hair out of place. He yelped, and reached up to smooth it back. 

"You can contribute at least, if you're too lazy to do your own work." Pansy slid over to sit next to Draco. He sighed, nudged her arms out of the way, and rested his head on her stomach. He studied the chart that she held, and pointed to a number in the third column. "That's wrong," he stated.

Pansy looked at it. She looked back at her calculations and sighed. Draco took her quill and scratched it out, writing the correct answer in its place.

"What were you going to be doing with Blaise tonight?" Pansy asked. Draco corrected a few more numbers before answering her. "He just wanted to have me try Imperio on a few larger animals, to make sure I could do it on humans if needed."

Pansy nodded, and stole her quill back. "How much more do you have to learn?"

"I've learned everything I need to know," Draco said. The tone of his voice was casual and relaxed, but his eyes gleamed with pride.

"Really?" Pansy put down her work. "So what next, then?"

"Next, I write to father and tell him that I'm ready." Draco toyed with a piece of parchment.

"Your father won't make you attend too many meetings, right? You have to graduate with good marks," Pansy said.

"Of course," Draco said. He took the quill and parchment, and continued doing the problems.

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Blaise wasn't in Transfiguration the next morning.

"He must have had a late night. I didn't hear him come back," Draco said offhandedly as he cornered his rabbit. The animal twitched its ears at him and backed into the wall.

"Good of you to let him sleep in," Pansy remarked. Nearby, Crabbe roared in amusement when Goyle accidentally stepped on his rabbit. Lavender Brown screamed, staring blankly at the dead animal. Parvati Patil fainted dead away.

"Gryffindors," Draco said contemptuously. Pansy looked a bit pale herself, and wasn't feeling wholly well, but she nodded in agreement anyway. She glanced at Tracey, and they both grimaced.

She returned to her own rabbit when Professor McGonagall stormed over to lecture Goyle. "Ooh, aren't you beautiful," Pansy cooed. The rabbit looked up at her with big, trusting eyes, which became the headlights when Pansy turned it into a toy train.

"Excellent work, Parkinson," Professor McGonagall said. She picked up the miniature replica of the Hogwarts Express and showed it to the rest of the class. Hermione, whose own train was much less decorative, looked green with envy.

_Poof_, and Draco's rabbit was a gleaming black train. Not to be outdone by Pansy's train, he muttered a few words, and the Malfoy crest appeared on the side of the locomotive.

McGonagall reluctantly praised his work, and hurriedly crossed the classroom to help Seamus Finnigan catch his train; it was running amok, the rabbit's head was still in place on the front of the train, and the whistle appeared to really work.

"Does this lesson have any practical applications?" Pansy wondered aloud. Tracey shrugged. "Probably not. Does _anything_ they teach us here have practical applications?"

"Not much," Draco said. He made slight adjustments to his train.

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Blaise wasn't present at lunch, nor was he in any of the afternoon classes. 

"He's probably just tired," Draco explained. "Been asleep all day, I bet. Lazy git."

Pansy nodded. "I suppose. Look in on him after class, will you?"

Class ended. Draco left to go to the boys' dorms, and Pansy went outside. It was a foggy day, and the mist hovered over the lake, obscuring it from sight. She picked her way down the path, remembering the way Draco had carried her down. 

Mist rolled out of the Forbidden Forest, making it look even eerier than usual. Pansy kept her distance from it, following the path around the lake. 

She spent an hour there, only surfacing from her thoughts when she began to shiver. The chill in the air, combined with the moisture, was definitely not good for her.

She returned to the Slytherin common room, and began to look around for her year-mates. Tracey lay on her bed in her room, writing in her journal, and Millicent was staring intently at a bug in a jar.

"Has anyone seen Draco?" she asked, directing the question at the whole common room. As per usual Slytherin habits, everyone ignored her, until she took out her wand and threatened to turn them into dung beetles. A fourth-year reluctantly spoke up. "He left to find Professor Snape."

Pansy frowned, thinking. She left the common room without replying to the fourth-year, and wandered down the hall. She paused outside Draco's door, which stood open slightly.

Pansy had never been in Draco's room. Curiously, she opened the door and entered.

It was all dark green. The hangings on the double bed – only one bed? There were usually two – were dark green, the covers were dark green, even the carpet on the stone floor was dark green patterned with lighter green and silver. Draco's uniform sweater lay in a crumpled pile at the foot of his bed.

Across the room from the bed was a closet. Its doors stood open, and Pansy could see the various identical Slytherin robes that were hanging inside it.

Pansy walked further into the room, and raised an eyebrow. A pair of dark green boxers was slung over the back of a chair. 

"Like them?"

Startled, Pansy turned around quickly. Draco stood in the doorway, looking amused.

"I'm glad they don't have hearts on them," Pansy said, recovering her poise. Draco laughed, and walked into the room. He shut the door behind him. "I'm a Malfoy. We don't do hearts. How did you get in? The door was locked."

"It was open," Pansy said. She sat down on his bed, bouncing experimentally. "Where were you? Some kid told me that you went to look for Snape."

Draco frowned. He nodded and sat down on the couch – couch? _Nobody_ had couches in their room. Pansy wondered briefly how much pressure Lucius had put on the school to get his son a room like this.

"Blaise wasn't in his room," Draco said. "Snape hasn't seen him either, but he says not to worry for now."

Pansy nodded. She fluffed Draco's pillows (which were also dark green) up, and lay back on them. Draco loosened his tie and tugged it off, tossing it onto the sweater. He stretched out on the couch, cat-like, and relaxed.

"Have you had a private room your whole time here?" Pansy asked. She rolled over onto her stomach and looked at Draco.

"I shared with Zabini in my first year, because I refused to sleep in the same room as the two apes, but Zabini is one of the most irritating people on the planet." He grimaced. "Father got me the private room for second year. I've had it ever since."

"What, the same one every year?" Pansy sat up.

Draco nodded. "It's nice having a stable room. I can leave things here over the summer, and the house elves don't touch them."

"Because of your father?" Pansy asked.

"Very useful having a father on the board of governors." Draco smirked. 

"If he gets you privileges like these, I wish my father was on the board." Pansy studied a tapestry across from her, which depicted some awfully gruesome scenes of murder with the Malfoy crest at the bottom left-hand corner. "How did he get on?"

"I assume it's mostly because of his name and his many, _very_ generous contributions to this rat's-nest of a school." Draco snorted. "He would have done better contributing to Durmstrang."

"You don't attend Durmstrang," Pansy pointed out. "Beautiful tapestry, by the way."

"Isn't it? Handed down through generations of Malfoys." Draco rose from the couch and pointed at a rail-thin man brandishing a bloody rapier, who resided at the top, near the center. "That's my great-great-grandfather." He looked at the tapestry for a moment longer, and tapped the area right above the Malfoy crest. "That's where Father's going to have himself put, as soon as he gets around to it. Probably this summer, when I bring the tapestry back home."

Pansy wrinkled her nose. "It's very…bloody."

"We're a bit of a violent family," Draco said smugly. "The tapestry reflects our centuries of oppressing Muggles and upholding Pureblood standards."

"Very noble of you," Pansy said, her tone mock-sincere.

Draco threw a cushion at her. "You mock my family?"

"Did your great-grandfather gel his hair back like you?" Pansy asked innocently. "Or is it a new thing?"

Draco threw his other cushion. "Mocking my family is _barely_ forgivable. Mocking my hair is unforgivable. You die, Parkinson."

"Oh, woe is me," Pansy said. "I am slain in the most brutal manner possible: pillow cushions."

Draco growled and lunged at her. Before he reached her, there was a knock on the door, and they looked up. Without waiting for an answer, Tracey burst in, looking distraught.

Pansy scrambled off the bed and went to her friend. "Tracey? What is it?"

"Blaise! They – his body he –" she broke off, holding a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

Pansy looked at Draco, alarmed. Draco shrugged and looked quizzically at Tracey.

"Tracey. Calm down and tell me what's wrong," Pansy said, tugging Tracey over to the couch and pushing her down. Tracey sat. She removed the hand from her mouth and took a few deep breaths. Pansy sat down beside her, and motioned for Draco to sit down or get out or do _something_ that wasn't stand there blankly.

"Tom just went into his room, and –," Tracey said, clasping her hands tightly together.

Thomas Nott was the boy who shared a room with Blaise. He was Blaise's opposite, being very quiet and artistic, but had a really nasty temper. A third-year Hufflepuff had accidentally knocked one of his jars of paint over and Thomas had hexed the kid seven times before being restrained by a prefect.

Pansy glanced at Draco, who sat on his bed, looking impatient. "Yes?" he asked, his tone irritable. "What happened after that?"

Tracey glared at him. "He…oh, Pansy, he found Blaise's body lying on the floor."

"Blaise's body?" Pansy said in disbelief.

"Zabini's dead? When did that happen?" Draco asked.

Tracey glared at him harder. "You insensitive bastard!"

"I'll thank you not to insult my parents," Draco began, before ducking as Tracey threw a novel at his head.

"Have you fetched Professor Snape yet?" Pansy asked. She rose from the couch and began to pace in circles. Tracey nodded. "Tom went to get him right after he found Blaise. I bumped into him in the hall on the way." 

Through the door, they could hear the low murmur of people talking. A few words were discernible, mostly things like 'Blaise' and 'body'. Tracey put her face in her hands, then raised her head and looked at the door. "Oh God," she said faintly. "It's like something that happens to Gryffindors. They're the ones who find their students dead, not us."

"Settle _down_!" Professor Snape's voice boomed from the Common Room. Silence fell. Pansy heard him walking towards the dormitories, past the door, opening the door to the next room.

Another long pause, terrible in its silence.

Snape's voice came again, much louder and harsh. "Fetch the headmaster – someone go get Professor Dumbledore!"

Pansy walked out into the hall. Nobody else was making a move for the door. Most were sitting quietly, looking shocked or scared, some staring at the wall and others staring at the floor. She left, slipping past the statue, and breaking into a run.

Up the stairs, out of the dungeon. Through the halls, not packed with students as they normally were, past a small group of Ravenclaws.

It dawned on Pansy that she had no idea where Professor Dumbledore's office was. She looked around aimlessly.

"What's wrong, Parkinson? Someone chasing you?"

Pansy spun around, glaring at Ron Weasley, who was flanked by his usual crowd. She composed herself. "Weasley, do you know where the Headmaster's office is? Please say you know."

Ron looked confused. He opened his mouth to say something, and closed it.

"Go to the statue of the gargoyle on the second floor," Harry said quietly. "I don't know the password, but it's usually some kind of candy."

Pansy stared at Harry for a moment. "I could kiss you, Potter," she said, "but I won't, because I have better taste than that. Thank you anyway." She brushed past them and ran towards the staircase.

"Better taste? And I suppose she means Malfoy!" Ron sounded indignant. 

Pansy fairly flew up the stairs and down the hall, looking for a gargoyle. Students stepped out of her way, looking strangely at her. She ran down corridors, up halls, through passageways, and finally found something that resembled a gargoyle.

"Um, fudge. Chocolate, cockroach clusters, fizzing whizbees, jelly slugs, pepper imps, um," Pansy said quickly. The gargoyle stared impassively back at her. "Bertie Bott's, peppermint creams, just _open_ already!"

The gargoyle sat there.

"Peppermint creams, honey peanuts –" she continued, but stopped when the gargoyle heaved itself to one side. A staircase stood behind it. Pansy immediately ran up to it, and started climbing. She shrieked when the stairs began to move upward, carrying her with them.

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and Dumbledore peered out. "Ah, Ms. Parkinson. So good to see you."

Pansy hung onto the railing, staring at the headmaster. Finally, she managed to nod. "Likewise."

The stairs reached the top, and ceased moving. Pansy stepped off them shakily. Dumbledore beamed at her, holding his office door open. "Come in, come in."

Pansy walked in. "Professor, you have to come to the dungeons quickly," she said. "Blaise – his body appeared and Snape wants you to –"

"Slow down. Calm down. Mint?" Dumbledore held a small bowl of mints out to her.

"Blaise is _dead_! I'm not going to eat mints!" Pansy cried. She was beginning to feel more than slightly hysterical. 

"All right." Dumbledore put the mints down. He left the office and made his way down the stairs with Pansy at his heels. 

By the time they reached the dungeons, Pansy was ready to strangle Dumbledore, headmaster or not. He had stopped to chat with a painting on the way, and had been diverted by an offer of Butterbeer. Pansy hurried to the statue, glanced around, and gave the password.

"Hexing Gryffindors," she said quickly. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow as the statue lumbered aside. Pansy ducked through the passage and hurried into the common room.

Graham was standing in the corner, trying to explain the situation to Crabbe and Goyle. A few students looked puzzled. Pansy heard one of them ask quietly, "Who's Blaise?"

Pansy led Dumbledore down the hall. "Severus?" he called, his voice raised.

"In here, Albus," Snape said, looking out of Blaise and Thomas' room. Dumbledore hurried inside and shut the door behind him.

Pansy looked at the closed door, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. She turned to Draco's room and tried the door. It was open, so she slipped in.

Draco was sitting on the bed, resting against his pillows, reading the novel that Tracey had chucked at him. He looked up.

"Hi," Pansy whispered. She shut the door quietly behind her and leaned against it, her eyes closed. Cloth and paper rustled, and a hand pressed against her cheek. She opened her eyes.

"Are you all right?" Draco asked quietly. She nodded mutely, and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. His arms encircled her, holding her tight.

"It's not so much that it was Blaise," Pansy said, her voice muffled by Draco's shirt. "I just don't like death."

Draco rubbed her back soothingly. "I know. Zabini was an idiot anyway."

Pansy smiled a bit. "But he was a nice idiot."

"Bet he couldn't dance," Draco said with a grin. Pansy shook her head and looked up, smiling wanly. "He stepped on my toes." 

"_I_ can dance," Draco said.

"I know," Pansy replied. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against Draco's. He responded, opening his mouth slightly, and moved his hands to her waist.

Pansy pressed closer to him. Closer was better, for if she was close enough, she could keep him from becoming a lifeless body like Blaise. He pressed back, so that she was trapped between his body and the door. The wood was cold against her back.

Draco intensified the kiss, and Pansy melted into it. She ran her fingers through his hair, barely registering the way that he was untucking her shirt, flattening his hands against her stomach.

He pulled back briefly. Pansy opened her eyes, staring into warm grey, and then he was kissing her again, and one hand was undoing the buttons on her shirt.

Just as suddenly, Draco's warmth was gone. Pansy gasped, returned to her senses.

"Draco? Are you in there?" Tracey's voice sounded through the door. She knocked again.

Hastily, Pansy buttoned up her shirt and tucked it in. She stepped aside, allowing Draco to open the door.

"Yes?" he said curtly. Tracey looked at him curiously; his hair was askew, falling into his eyes, and his face was flushed. "Um, Professor Snape says that you need to come to dinner now because Professor Dumbledore has an announcement to make –" She faltered and trailed off as Pansy stepped around the door. "Um. Hi, Pansy."

Pansy attempted a smile.

"I'll just, um, go to dinner now." Tracey pointed down the hall and followed her finger. 

Draco groaned as soon as she got out of hearing range. Pansy stepped up to him and began to fix his hair. "You look like a complete mess," she said softly. He caught her around the waist and kissed her, chastely. "And whose fault is that?"

Pansy smiled, and tugged him out of the room, heading towards the Great Hall. Dinner would be magnificent, as usual. Pity that she wasn't planning on eating. As usual. 


End file.
